


String Theory

by ThisBirdWithoutACage



Series: Bloodlines [2]
Category: Gravity Falls, Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: A shit tone of angst, Angst, Demons rule the world, Depression, Emotional Manipulation, Everyone has changed, Familial loss, Family Feels, Family legacy, Frayed relationships, Greg has Awakened, Humanity is surviving by a thread, I'm not even kidding, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Apocalypse, Unresolved grief, kind of?, personal vendetta
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2018-09-12 07:45:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 38,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9062935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisBirdWithoutACage/pseuds/ThisBirdWithoutACage
Summary: For Greg, the world had changed so much since that fateful day nine yeas ago. Hardened, Awakened like his mother and brother, he is determined to destroy the very demon that has caused his family heartache and devastation. Yet, things aren't always what they appear to be and he learns the hard way that people change. Whether we want them to or not.Not everything can return to the way it was.





	1. Sweet Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!! I'm so excited to be back! I'm so happy with the feedback I got on the Law of Gravity and I am pleased to share this chapter with you. This first chapter *sighs* was a pain in the ass to write at times. I've written and rewritten so much, so I'm mostly satisfied with it. So I apologize in advance if it seems kind of "ugh" at times, or so to say. You guys might like it, you might not. 
> 
> So yeah, a lot has changed. I didn't jump into everything right away because I want to develop before we hit the major first story arch. This one is going to be longer than the first story, hopefully. I don't know how many chapters right now, but maybe forty or fifty? Who knows at this point but I do like to plan ahead. I'm sorry this didn't get out earlier! I was lacking inspiration and then finals came rolling around and as you all know, school comes first. I know that sucks, but reality is a bitch.
> 
> Also Happy Holidays! I don't know if you all celebrate Christmas, but I hope you all are safe and happy this time of year. I wish you all nothing but the best and hope you stick around for this story!

_Sweet Dreams are made of this,_

_Who am I to disagree?_

_Travel the world and the seven seas,_

_Everybody's lookin' for something_

_~Sweet dreams-Emily Browning Cover~_

“There you are sleepy head, I was wondering if you were ever going to wake up.”

He stared groggily up at her, hand raising up to shield his eyes from the morning sun’s bright rays. It illuminated the kitchen, making the fading yellow flower wallpaper seem brighter; much cheerier than it usually looked. He stayed in the archway, his hair disheveled and a bit greasy and rubbed the sleepiness from his eyes. The sun still irritated his face though it created a warm feeling on his cheek. He gazed around, not even bothering to reply to his mother. She gave him a quick smile before returning her attention to the bacon sizzling in the skillet.

“Hey there, buddy,” his father set down the paper, hazel eyes matching the smile that turned up the corners of his lips. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah,” his voice didn’t feel right; like there was a frog in his throat. His father had returned his attention to the paper in front of him. _The Gravity Falls Gossiper._ The words sent a small tingle through his spine, like a distant warning or an alarm going off. Why? This was just a typical Saturday morning. Or was it Sunday? “What,” his voice still sounded strange, like it wasn’t his own. “What day is it?”

“It’s Sunday, Greg,” his mother turned around look look at him with puzzlement tinged with an incredulous smile. “Did you really forget what day it is? You’ve been talking about it for weeks.”

Her dark gray eyes seemed even brighter in the sun, her black hair that was usually up in a ponytail or messy bun was down, laying gently on her lower back. Healthy, not touched by age when he knew full well she was close to being in her fifties. “What’s going on?”

“Like you don’t know,” his father chuckled, leaning over to take a long sip of his coffee. “Greg, do you really not know what day it is?”

He looked towards the rest of the table, at the other two members sitting there. His sister, black hair in pigtails; almost the identical image of their mother if not for her more rounded chin and the dimples at the corner of her lips when she smiled. Exactly what she was doing right now as she looked up at him with thinly concealed amusement. “How could you forget, Greg,” she spoke, her child like voice echoing in his ear. “You have to be joking.”

He jumped the second the doorbell rang, barely even paying any mind to the giggles and smirks coming from his parents and sister. “You wanna go get that?” his mother asked, turning off the stove and sliding the bacon onto a plate, heading to the kitchen table to set it down. “He’s probably expecting you.”

He?

His feet seemed to start moving before he even processed the thought. He felt the vibrations against the floorboard with each impact, heart pounding against his chest. Why was he so excited? Who was coming? He could see a silhouette of the person standing by the door. A tall person, from what he could see, but who was it?

He threw open the door, eyes widening at the sight.

A young man in his mid twenties smiled at him. His eyes, the same shape and color as his mother’s, lit up when their gazes met. He was tall, much taller than himself and his hair was dark, almost black with the bangs falling softly on his forehead. “Hey Greg,” the young man smiled at him, a casual smile. “Can I come in? Or are we just going to stay out here on the porch?”

The realization hit him like a punch to the stomach, knocking the wind out of him violently. “Wirt,” his voice broke, a surprise sound that seemed to still all signs of activity around. “Wirt, you’re back!”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” his older brother let out a small laugh, tilting his head curiously. “So can we come in?”

“We?”

“Are you okay? You seem to be forgetting what I told you earlier,” Wirt laughed once more, resting a hand on his shoulder and then looking back towards the black car parked in their front yard. “Don’t you remember? I brought my husband with me.”

“Your husband?”

Wirt rolled his eyes, shaking his head slowly in exasperation. “You haven’t woken up, have you? Well, I’m going inside.”

The taller man brushed past him, calling out something and then getting a chorus of replies back. He could make out his mother and sister’s voices, louder and higher than his father’s. They sounded so happy; so excited that his brother was back.

Yet, it wasn’t right.

He stood on the porch, blinking slowly at the empty yard. It seemed eerily quiet; at a standstill. The early morning fog rolling around the trees, creating a peaceful atmosphere to the already calm morning. The gleaming sleek black car in the driveway stood out, against their old worn out van that surprisingly was still able to work without too many issues. There were two suitcases on the ground, expensive and grand looking. A man stood by them, smiling pleasantly at him.

Maybe pleasant wasn’t the right word. He didn’t look angry, but the smile wasn’t friendly. It was more of a smirk, as if the man were silently mocking him. He was handsome, he supposed, for a male. Tall, much taller than Wirt with skin that rivaled the paleness of the moon. No, he was as pale as a corpse. His hair was styled short, a dark sandy blonde with bangs on the left side of his face brushing over his eye. His eyes, the palest gray he’d ever seen appeared almost colorless. Yet, as he stared long enough, he could have sworn to see flecks of pink, blue, and yellow.

He had seen this man before. A part of him wanted to roll his eyes and say “duh, that’s your brother’s husband!”, but that wasn’t it. He had no recollection of seeing this man with his husband; no memories of first appearances or the wedding. There was nothing except for a nauseating feeling that something wasn’t quite right.

“Hello Gregory,” the man was suddenly in front of him, blinding him with his perfectly straight and white teeth that had a threatening sharpness to them. “It’s been almost nine years, can you believe it? You’ve grown quite a bit. Almost as handsome as your brother.”

The scenery changes. The world goes pitch black; the voices fading, the house and features around him swirling around until everything goes black. He’s falling, further and further into a void. It seemed endless, like he was falling forever and it was cold, so cold. When he finally lands, it feels like he slammed into a brick wall. Stars were spinning in his eyes, even the darkness felt blurry as he tried to get his bearings back into order.

Through his hazy perspective, he could make out the sound of blades clashing against each other. Two people appeared in his line of vision as light suddenly appeared. Wherever they were, it seemed like a sort of dungeon or perhaps somewhere underground. He watches from his spot on the ground as the two figures continued to fight. With swords, long swords that held designs not of human origin. He could make out the man from earlier fighting with an almost sinister calm. His movements are graceful, yet economical in movement. Striking fast while defending his weak spots with tactical precision. The way he moves is like a coordinated dance that no one would be able to match.

His opponent is the exact opposite. He too has that same eerie calm about him though he doesn’t have as tactical of movement. He strikes fast, with lithe and agility not seen in most people. It’s almost reckless in execution but captivating at the same time. The young man knows what he’s doing. He shows no inclination of being unsure.

It actually takes him a minute to realize it’s Wirt.

He looks different, no longer holding a boyish quality to him that he remembered. He looked older; more defined and like a man. How could Wirt be a man? Was it really possible that so much time had already passed?

The man shoots forward, his sword cutting through the air and his brother leaps to the side, barely parrying the attack away. The man, his death like skin glowing like alabaster in the dim light, sidesteps and brings the sword up in a movement that his brother couldn’t process right away. The sword makes a small cut on his face and he hears a hiss of pain. The sword drops from his hands and the blonde man moves forward once more, one hand on his shoulder pushing him back against the cobblestone wall. The flat of the sword is pressed up against his neck and he can hear the labored breathing of his brother.

“Ready to give up?” the blonde’s voice is low, low enough it causes tremors of fear and anger to shoot down his spine. The man’s starkling sharp grin is almost feral; a sneer. His brother glares back at him with such a fierceness in his dark gray, almost black, eyes. “You have put up a good fight; definitely worthy of her standards, but even the best of heroes know when to give up.”

He wonders, for a moment, how his brother will react. There’s anger; definitely something akin to disgust in his eyes but there is something else too. Something that gnaws in the corner of his mind, a look that he has never seen before. It sits next to the anger, no, it is with the anger. It is as if they are equals, equal in the sense he is feeling them at the same time. He doesn’t know what it is or why it bothers him so much. His brother growls. “I hate you so much.”

“Good. Hatred keeps that fire of yours going.”

He’s falling once more, the floor opening up and swallowing him before he even has a chance to scream. It’s cold, oh so cold. He can feel his skin tingle and steadily go numb as he continues to sink further into the dark abyss. He’s sure his lips are turning blue and his skin is turning into an ugly shade of grayish purple. The stark reminder of what is happening makes him want to vomit. He’s felt this kind of cold before, long ago in a place where time didn’t seem to exist. Just a small boy with a foolish, trusting personality sitting out in the cold, unforgiving elements.

_“Just gotta wait, just gotta wait.”_

“ _I’ll never give up!”_

He wants to shield himself from the words echoing around him, heart racing faster than the speed of sound. He finds himself curling inwards in a fetal position, as though that will stop the childish words from getting louder. He tries to shut his eyes, but they remained fixed on something peering at him through the darkness. Golden eyes, cold and more like hard rocks with cruel amusement gleaming in them.

_“Come down little hero, come down. Fall down little Gregory…”_

“GREG!”

His eyes flash open and the darkness is there no longer. There’s soft light coming from the left side of his room and a face is leaning down over him, concern written in soft blue eyes. Long lashes blink downwards, the concern still there on her face. “Were you having that dream again?” she asked, though it was more of statement than a question. She stepped away from him and stands by the foot of the bed, head tilted slightly. “Greg? Why are you crying?”

Was he? He blinked in surprise, a hand coming up to rest on his cheek. There was a tear mark there, warm and fresh against his lightly tanned skin. “What time is it?” he asked, looking back towards the girl. More specifically, Katia. “How long have I been asleep?”

“It’s nine thirty,” she replied, a bit edgy and the concern still written on her face. “Your mom sent me to get you up. Are you sure you’re okay? Do you need Annie or Whispers to look at you?”

She returned to his side, placing one of her hands on his forehead. She frowned slightly, the other hand moving some of her shoulder length ash brown hair back. “You don’t have a fever,” she commented, letting out a sigh when he pushed her hand away. “You should tell your Mom. You’ve had these dreams for what, about a month now?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he shook his head, swinging his legs over and placing them on the floor to stand up. She stood directly in line with his neck, staring up at him with narrowed eyes and hands on her hips in a not so subtle display of disapproval. He rolled his eyes at her. “I’m serious, it’s not like she can do anything.”  
“Well maybe Annie or Whispers can. Even Matilda probably knows what to do about them,” Katia reasoned, staring him down with a level headed expression that very few seventeen year olds could pull off. She let out a soft sigh, a sign of exasperation and defeat. “Well, hurry up and get dressed. Your Mom is waiting for us.”

She heads towards the door and disappeared, shutting it quietly behind her. He let out a sigh of his own, bringing up a hand to run through his already messy dark blonde hair. He trudges over to the mirror, brush in hand as he tries to maintain the wild mess of hair that is looking more and more like his brother’s everyday. Of course, his brother’s hair had been a dark shade of brown that looked black at times whereas his hair resembled more of his father’s.

Wait, what was he saying? His brother’s hair was still dark brown. Where did the “had been” come from?

The bristles of the brush scrape against his scalp gently, the locks becoming much neater and less of a bird’s nest. The bangs brush against his eyebrows, just long enough that they almost touch his eyes. He’d been meaning to get his hair trimmed but he just didn’t have the time.

He found himself entranced by his reflection in the mirror. Not in a narcissistic way, but in a solemn reminder of how much he had changed. How much the world hand changed in the almost nine years since that fateful day.

The baby fat he had as a child had disappeared over time, and with the training he’d done with his mother, he had more of an athletic build with more muscle. He was almost like Wirt in that sense, except his older brother had more of a lean build and stood at least six inches taller than him. Now that he thought of it, the two of them didn’t really look alike aside from the eye color and shared skin tone. They both inherited their fathers’ noses; with his being more upturned and like a button whereas Wirt’s was straight. Despite that, most people easily assumed they were brothers.

His face was rounder than Wirt’s, with a stronger jawline he got from his father as well. He traced his face, the fingers brushing past the smooth flesh. His eyebrows, sparse and naturally furrowing, only made him look older than he actually was. It vaguely reminded him of his brother, though Valentina had once said long ago that Wirt had the most perfectly arched eyebrows she’d ever seen and that she wished she could have them. He didn’t understand why she cared so much for appearance; it seemed rather redundant considering the situation of the world.

Thirty-one days. He’s been eighteen for a month yet he doesn’t feel any different. He slipped his shirt on over his head, sliding on a pair of clean boxers and jeans before taking off out the door. The house, over the course of the almost nine years, hadn’t changed too much. The wall color was fading and the floorboards creaked more than they had before. Yin Wei’s room had changed, the baby furniture being removed as the girl continued to grow from baby, to toddler, to her current state as a child.

Though she wasn’t really a child. Not really.

He pushed open the door to his bedroom, nearly bumping into her in the hallway. “Geeze,” he grumbles, rolling his eyes and stepping past her. “Could you not stand so close to the door? I could have slammed it into your face!”

She merely falls into step beside him. “You should tell your mom about these dreams,” she ignores his previous outburst of irritation, eyeing him carefully. Her eyebrows are knit in worry though her voice is steady, firm on the matter.

“Really, this again?”

“She might know what to do. She’s worried.”

“More like you’re worried,” he glances at her, hoping that she would just drop the subject already. His parents didn’t know; or at least, he assumed they didn’t. “You worry about too much. Worry about yourself for a change.”

He opens the front door to their house, allowing her to step out first. She stood at the bottom of the steps while he locked up the old house, arms crossed over her chest as she waited. When they walk across the road to the shack, her mouth opens once more. “If I don’t worry about you, then you’ll get into trouble. You always get into trouble when I’m not around.”

He tried to ignore the unintentional blow to his pride, yet he could feel his hands clench into fists. She noticed his reaction, closing her mouth instead of uttering her next sentence. She turned her face away instead, opting to stare at something other than him.

To anyone who was outside at the time, they might have passed as ordinary teenagers going out on a morning stroll. Dressed in beaten up jeans and t-shirts with shoes that had seen better days, they looked like they were going to take a trip to the woods. However, that illusion would soon fade once someone noticed the sword attached to his belt and the bow and quiver strapped to her back.

The Mystery Shack hadn’t changed too much over the years. Yet, in a way, it had. Vacant attractions that had long ago been abandoned still stood in the yard. Gone were the days of tourists and easy cash. No new attractions had been seen for years. Not since...that day.

He swallowed hard, pushing away the thoughts that crept into his mind. What was the point? There was no changing the past; it wasn’t like he could go back in time and change what had happened. No one he knew had time traveling powers although he knew if he could, he would go back and warn his younger self. No, he would go further back. Back to when he was seven years old, babbling to his older brother about a frog.

“Greg?”

He blinked suddenly, gaze meeting Katia’s once more as she stared at him, holding the door to the shack open. He pushed the sadness down and cleared his throat, going up the last few steps of the shack. “Yeah,” he mumbled, walking past her as he spoke. “I’m coming.”

“Greg-”

“I’m fine,” he didn’t mean to snap at her, regretting it when she narrowed her eyes at him. He ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath. “Lay off it, would you? I’m fine; I just haven’t completely woken up yet.”

“Your fault for missing breakfast.”

She stepped away from him, heading over to where his mother was chatting with his sister. Almost identical copies of each other though his mother’s hair was beginning to dull. Her once beautiful black hair had small streaks of silver in them. She was only forty nine; much too young in his mind to start to becoming old. Yet the signs were everywhere. From the silver in her hair to the small wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and mouth. She would be fifty in two months; that coming January. His father would be turning the same age as well next June.

The gift shop had been turned into a meeting room of sorts. Two long tables pushed together and chairs all around to fit at least ten people. The souveniers had been thrown out or discarded a long time ago and the few that remained had not changed very much over the years.

The people, however, had.

Grunkle Stan and Ford had aged a lot. Surprisingly their hair remained in tact though that didn’t do much for their aching joints and hips. They looked so much older than he remembered them being as a child. Both so serious, with a hardness in their eyes that no so subtly reminded him of everyone else in the room.

Mabel sat at one end of the table, a carving knife etched into the table as she poked at it with disinterest. Her once long wavy hair had been cut short, just a little below her jawline. The wave had never left and she kept a majority of her hair held together with a headband. She no longer dressed in eccentric sweaters and frilly skirts. She held herself as a warrior; a soldier ready to go into battle. He couldn’t even remember the last time she’d smiled. She was always working; focused solely in recovering her long lost twin and making a certain demon pay. A grappling hook and knife always on hand and her posture always tense; like she never relaxed. Bags had formed under her eyes and he knew for fact she only slept four hours a night.

Next to her were two people who hadn’t really changed too much. Annie sat in an office chair that had been dragged into the living room, her girlfriend, Valentina, in her lap. Of course that wasn’t to say they hadn’t changed; everyone he knew had, yet they still retained a lot of their personalities despite what had happened. They were always together; he barely saw them apart for very long. Despite the battle hardened expressions and the eyepatch that Valentina always wore, they didn’t look very different. Their abilities had gotten stronger, with Annie being a stronger witch and Valentina’s sword fighting abilities on par with his, they made a ferocious combination.

He took a seat across from the two lovebirds, Valentina giving him a tiny smirk and waving at him. Annie merely nodded and Mabel offered a small hello. Valentina’s dark eyes glanced from him to Katia, the smirk growing ever so wider. “So what’d you do to piss off your girlfriend?” she asked that sounded jokingly, but held a tone of seriousness.

He rolled his eyes, yet it wasn’t him who spoke. Katia took the seat next to him and he could have sworn her cheeks were dusted pink as she spoke. “It’s not like that,” she muttered. “We're not fighting.”

“Uh-huh,” Valentina clicked her tongue, eyes practically laughing at the younger girl. “So you say.”

He almost felt tempted to laugh when Annie placed a hand over her lover’s mouth. “Shush.”

“Mmph!”

“You talk way too much,” he leaned back in his seat, staring at the woman who had served as an ice cream vendor all those years ago. “You know that, right?”

He felt pleased by the tiny smile Annie gave off and the barest hint of amusement that flickered briefly for a moment in Mabel’s eyes.

Of course, the nice moment didn’t last long; they never did. Silence descended over the room as Ford took the other end of the table, tapping the wood lightly with his knuckles to get everyone’s attention. “Attention, everyone attention. Let’s start this meeting!”

He watched with vague interest as people gathered around the table, taking seats or opting to stand. He glanced at the corner of his eye as his sister took the other seat next to him, serene dark eyes observing the people around her. He gave her a quick nudge, a slight grin forming on his face. Her normally constructed expression changed and for a moment, she looked like a kid and less like a mini soldier.

Ford cleared his throat, silence descending upon the large room. He adjusted his large square framed glasses, blue eyes knitted in seriousness. “Nine years ago, as we already know, the world we knew has been lost. Maybe forever, maybe not. But I can tell you that in spite of our efforts, we have achieved very little in trying to regain what’s been lost.”

If he were bold enough, he might have snorted along with Valentina at the obviously redundant statement. He knew it was just Ford giving an opening statement, but was it really necessary? Everyone in the room had lost someone or something important to them, whether it be a family member or the life they had once lived. He couldn't blame the old man entirely; there was truth in his statement. What had they accomplished?

Oh wait, absolutely nothing.

“Regardless of my nerd brother’s cheerful statement,” Stan rolled his eyes, resting his hand on his twin’s shoulder. “He’s right. It’s been nine years and nothing has happened. No demon activity. No weird weather. No ‘strange fairy activity. Absolutely nothing! It’s like this town isn’t affected at all.”

He still didn’t understand why their town had remained relatively untouched; free of a lot of the malevolent supernatural activity the rest of the world was facing. The information they did get from refugees who had fled to the town was that the United States really didn’t exist anymore. Humans no longer were the top of the food chain. Their only purpose in the world now was to be slaves to their demonic and supernatural rulers.

Or food.

“What do you suggest, Grunkle Stan?” Mabel spoke up, crossing her arms over her chest. “The last time we went on a raid to Portland, we lost a lot of people. We haven’t had any supernatural anomalies since...well, do I really need to remind everyone?”

Katia grumbled. “Is there a point? What’s the use of rubbing salt into old wounds?”

No one had an answer to that, or they didn’t feel like they needed an answer to it. He looked across the table to his mother, who was now staring distantly at nothing in particular. He shifted his gaze to his father, who seemed particularly interested in studying his hands. Yin Wei remained quiet, though there wasn’t anything entirely strange about that. Even Katia now stared intensely at the table, mind drifting back to that day.

“I haven’t seen my son in over nine years,” his mother’s low voice broke steadily through the silence. She turned her gaze to him and his sister and then to her husband as she addressed Ford. “You have lost your great-nephew; my children their brother. If you have a suggestion as to what else we can do, please share it instead of reminding us all of what we have lost.”

“I won’t suggest we go on another raid,” Ford shook his head. “We don’t need to lower the human population any further.”

“Are we any closer to finding Bill and The Beast?” his father spoke for the first time today, stepping closer to his mother. “I want to get rid of the demon that took my step-son.”

“Don’t we all?” Annie muttered.

He watched out the corner of his eye as Mabel picked up the knife etched into the table, her gaze darker than usual as she slammed it back in. “Bill’s mine.” Her voice was final; no room for an argument or challenge to that statement.

From her spot in her girflriend’s lap, Valentina fiddled with her eyepatch. She didn’t take it off very often, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her without it. He briefly saw the eye, glassy and scarred; unseeing. She adjusted the strings, securing the small knot at the back of her head. “It’s already established that there hasn’t been any supernatural activity in this town for quite a while,” she leaned back in her girlfriend’s arms, her voice rising in confidence as she continued on. “But does anyone know anything? Any small piece of information could be useful. For example, Annie and Matilda say the witches have been eerily quiet. No sign of dark energy coming from them.”

Ford nodded. “And the faeries?”

Katia shook her head. “Nothing from them. The Seelie court set their territory in Louisiana. The Unseelie court is in Russia as of now. Who knows when they’ll move again.”

“You know they will,” his mother nodded her head, continuing on with the girl’s statement. “The Winter solstice is coming up; that’s usually a big event. Both courts gather and trade off the Scepter of Seasons.”

“Of course, that doesn’t really help us. Demons are one thing but faeries,” Stan shivered slightly. “They’re an entirely different subject altogether.”

“They don’t have the same origins as demons, Stanley,” Ford corrected, giving a small sigh. “Yet they are both on the same side, so they’re both equally hard to deal with.”

“Yeah, well, I still don’t like them.”

“They’ll have to strike some time,” his father spoke out, stepping closer towards the table to rest his palms on the edges, fingers digging into the old wood. “They’ve left us alive for some reason. Taking their time, maybe? I mean, they have all the time in the world.”

“Bill did kill the time baby…” Mabel drifted off.

For the first time, he spoke up. “So we’re sitting ducks then?” all eyes were on him now and even as he spoke, he could feel a tingling sensation up his spine. A nagging feeling that he was being watched. “I say we take the fight to them. I swore to kill that bastard a long time ago; I’m not giving him the pleasure to kill me.”

“Greg-”

He glared quickly at Katia, who shut her mouth with a less than happy look on her face. His mother frowned at him with an expression he knew all too well. Sadness with a small hint of regret. The sadness he understood but the regret? He wasn’t sure if he even wanted to know the story behind that. Nor did he think he was ready.

“Greg’s been having weird dreams.”

He also wasn’t expecting Katia to throw him under the bus. “What the hell?” he snapped at her, swiveling around in his chair to face her. “Why the hell would you say that?”

“Gregory Nathaniel MaCavin, what is she talking about?” his mother circled around the table, eyes narrowing suspiciously as she quickly walked over. Her dark eyes, identical to his, stared him down with a look all mothers seemed to possess. “Gregory, are you having dreams?”

Damnit, why did she have to open her mouth? He gave her one last glare, ignoring the slightly guilty look on her face. “Greg,” he almost jumped when he felt his father’s hand on his shoulder. “How long have you been having these dreams?”

“About a month,” he said resignedly.

He felt almost nauseous when he heard his mother inhale sharply. “Gregory-”

“It’s fine,” the chair scraped across the floor, shrugging the hand off him as he stood. He stood taller than her; the same height as his father. She looked worried as she stared at him, her hands twisting together as they always did when she felt stressed or distracted. He sighed in irritation. “Look, they’re just dreams, okay? They mean nothing.”

“It’s been the same dream for a month,” of course Katia had to speak; why did she feel the need to stick her nose in his business?

His mother’s gaze sharpened. “Explain, now.”

He pushed past her, that uncomfortable irritation still building. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he ignored her call and his father’s, sighing through his nose. “They’re just stupid dreams; they don’t mean anything.”

He really wanted to believe that.

He practically threw open the door to the shack, slamming it behind him. He expected Katia or his mother to follow, but he wouldn’t deny the small bit of relief when he realized he was alone. He stormed past the shack, into the forest. Full of magical creatures, both dangerous and harmless, were everywhere in the woods. A long time ago, though not really too long if he thought about it, the woods were a moderately safe place to be in. Now, no one could go in it without a buddy or at least a weapon. He gingerly let his right hand fall on the sword in its sheath strapped to his belt. He rarely ever left home without it.

He didn’t venture too far from the shack; he wasn’t foolish enough to do that. There was an area he liked to go to, specifically for when he wanted to be alone. A magnificent forest glade surrounded by tall evergreen trees. In the center of the glade was a small brook that formed into a bend and led into the rest of Gravity Falls’ forest. Sunlight peered down through the trees, creating little patches of light here and there. Creating a nice area to be alone in.

He tried not to think about the day he discovered the place. It’d been the day after The Beast appeared in front of his brother and threatened him. He took his brother out “adventuring” the next day and while they hadn’t found any cool creatures, they did find the clearing. They’d spent the rest of the afternoon there, with Wirt reading and him playing with Jason Funderberker.

He ground his teeth at the nostalgia. Those were the good days. Back when things had been simpler. No demons, no family secrets, just the two of them exploring and having fun together. Then that damn Beast had to come and ruin everything. Ruined his happiness; their happiness. Even if he had still been a naive child at that point, it still wasn’t fair. He wanted those days back. Back when it was just him and Wirt. Exploring and having adventures during the day and then returning home to the rest of their family. If he closed his eyes, he could still see his brother. Sitting under a tree reading or writing poetry. Yet, he could never reach him.

He punched a tree, just for the spite of it.

“Now really, what did the tree do to you, hm?”

He immediately drew his sword, turning around to find a...figure in a cloak. He blinked once at them, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Who are you? Never mind, I don’t really care,” he lunged forward, at a speed no ordinary person could match with the intent to wound. It could be a demon, or a witch, hell it could even be a fairy. There were only so many one could trust and his experience, everyone he wasn’t close to  was untrustworthy.

He got close to them, sword aimed towards the side of their abdomen but before he could even make contact, they moved. Not magically or with some sort of teleportation, they just took a large step to the side calmly. As if they were expecting his movement.

“That wasn’t very nice,” they had the nerve to chastise him. The voice high, clearly a female. “Gregory Nathaniel MaCavin, I thought your mother raised you with better manners.”

“Who the hell are you?” he asked, voice steady and sword still pointed at her. He made sure to stay at least a few feet away from her. “Why do you know my name?”

He took a moment to study her. She wasn’t very tall, though at the same time, she wasn’t short either. More in between; of average stature. She adorned herself in a dark emerald colored cloak with the hood concealing her face. Her hair was a very dark shade of brown, almost black and most of it seemed to be tucked into a long braid. Her hands, the only part of her skin he could actually see were very pale and in the sunlight seemed to shine like alabaster.

He didn’t know her but she seemed familiar somehow.

“I am called She Who Watches,” she spoke serenely, not unkindly. Seeing as though she hadn’t made a move to kill him yet and as he observed her, that didn’t seem to be her intention. At least, for now. “And I know you very well, Gregory.”

“Funny, I don’t recall ever having met you before,” he said dryly, not relaxing his stance. “And is that your real name?”

“No,” she shrugged her shoulders resignedly. “Just a title I’ve picked up over the years.”

She didn’t sound very old. If anything, she sounded his age or maybe a bit younger but there was a wisdom in her voice. Like she had been around the world many times and had learned and experienced more than he could ever begin to imagine. “What do you want?” he asked, deciding not to beat around the bush any longer. “State your business, now.”

“I’ve been watching you grow for a while now,” she seemed to ignore his rather blunt statement. “And while you may think things are a little hopeless right now, do not fear. Events will be moving into place; choices must be made. Everyone you knew as a child are not the same people you once knew. I’ve come to offer you a bit of...advice.”

He scowled. “And what if I don’t want your advice.”

He wasn’t expecting her to reply back in a sassy tone. “I’m giving it to you anyway,” when he did not respond to that, she sighed. “The advice, well, it’s more of a prophecy really. I learned of it a long time ago and very soon, it will begin to unfold.”

“Why should I-”

She cut him off briskly, ignoring the sentence he was uttering and began in a low voice, the timbre sending a thousand shivers to crawl through his skin.

_“Two brothers will decide each other's fate,”_

_“The Elder ones will start to wake,_

_“Summer's daughter shall become the Iron Queen,”_

_“And time itself shall be released,”_

_“Two worlds will come together,”_

_“Two hearts beat as one,”_

_“Light and Dark will meet at opposite ends,”_

_“The signs of Gemini and Capricorn will rise,”_

_“And only one and one alone,”_

_“Will survive the battle and claim the world”_

All he could do was stare at her in disbelief. “Bullshit,” was the first thing that came out of his mouth. “Complete and utter nonsense! What kind of crap are you trying to pull here?”

“I thought you might say that,” she sighed, sounding not very surprised. “But it would be unwise to ignore the prophecy; you are involved in it. I implore you to think about your actions, to take into account that things aren’t always what they appear.”

“And why should I listen to you?” he asked darkly. “I don’t trust strangers. How do I know you’re not deceiving me?”

Instead of getting irritated or angry, she just shook her head. “You’ll understand one day,” she sounded tired; as if the whole world was on her shoulders. “Just know, that nothing is going to go back to the way it was. People change, Gregory. Just take that into account.”

“What are you getting at?”

“In ten days the Winter solstice will happen. The courts will exchange the scepter and Winter shall begin. This year, however, will be different,” she paused momentarily and for a split second, he could see her eyes. Dark. He couldn't tell what color, but he knew they were very dark. “Demons will be at this event as well. This year, the solstice is happening in Salem, Oregon. You will find what you are looking for there.”

Before he could confront her more; ask her more questions, she was gone. She disappeared from his sight as though she had never been there before. He was left standing in the clearing, disoriented and heart racing so fast he could barely catch his breath. He fell to his knees, ignoring the dull ache that his knee caps seemed to shout at him.

“What in the world?” he mumbled to himself, running a hand through his hair. He contemplated pinching himself, just to make sure it was a dream, but he knew better. That sixth sense of his that always seemed to know when he was in danger; when something big was coming. He could feel it now, like an ever pressing wave of doom was about to descend upon him and everyone he cared about.

And in that moment, for the second time in his young life, he knew things were never going to be the same again.


	2. Dollhouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We take a peak inside the Fearamid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I hit a bit of writer's block while writing the chapter and didn't feel the inspiration to write. Anyway I'm back now, so hopefully you like this chapter. I just love throwing new mysteries at you! I also couldn't think of a good song for this chapter, so the one I have will have to do.

_D-O-L-L-H-O-U-S-E,_

_I see things that nobody else sees,_

_D-O-L-L-H-O-U-S-E,_

_I see things that nobody else sees_

_~Dollhouse by Melanie Martinez_

**(Unknown destination, December 11, 2025)**

“What do you think they’re talking about?”

“Who knows. It’s not really any of our business.”

In a hallway made of black marble, two young children sat on the ground in a rather bored fashion. To a passerbyer they would have appeared to be ordinary children waiting for their parents to be finished with a meeting, or perhaps waiting for them to finish talking with old friends. To anyone who wasn’t familiar with the area, they might have found it strange to find the children in the hallway. They’re very young, around five years old or a bit younger. They’re not accompanied by an adult, which to some might seem odd.

Yet, if anything attacked them, it would be the last thing that creature would ever do.

The most immediate one is a boy. He’s sitting against the wall of black marble with a straight back and rather bored expression. His long legs are sprawled in front of him and it’s no doubt he’s a somewhat gangly child. He hasn’t quite grown into his body just yet. He huffs, blowing some of his slightly wavy chestnut brown hair up. His eyes, round and an astonishing shade of bright blue, eerily remind some of a certain demon. He looks bored though; just a little impatient. His face does not look like one a child should wear. To a stranger, it would be obvious that he doesn’t smile a whole often.

To his right, and sitting cross legged on the floor, is a girl. She’s the same height as the boy, with long and straight dark brown hair that gives the illusion of being black in certain lights. Unlike the boy, she’s paler, giving the illusion of a corpse. Yet unlike a corpse, she’s pretty. While the boy has round blue eyes, hers are darker and single lidded, giving the impression she has mixed mortal heritage. She has a smile to her lips, making her seem more friendly as she plays with a doll on the ground. The most noticeable thing about the doll is that it’s headless, though that doesn’t seem to bother her in the slightest.

“Don’t you want to find out, Azzy?” she asks, her voice like a soft bell and curiosity in her dark gray orbs as she looks to the boy. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

The boy, Azzy, rolls his eyes. “Why do you want to get into trouble all the time?” he asks, slight condensation in his voice. “Your father will kill you if you disobey him.”

“He didn’t the last time,” the girl counters, fiddling with the headless doll’s dress. “Besides, Momma won’t let him. He’d kill him if he tried to.”

Some might find it a bit...precocious; the way the two children are talking. But they don’t seem to mind all too much. The girl looks to the boy, the calm smile suddenly turning impish; like she knows she’s going to say something the boy will not like. “Tad thinks we should go. Don’t you want to look at the new demon that showed up? I heard my Momma tell your Momma that the others say this demon isn’t actually a demon.”

The boy pauses for a moment, allowing a brief flicker of curiosity to spread across his reserved features. “What does that mean?” he asks, not even bothering to mask the curiosity. “Is it a fairy then?”

“Nope,” the girl shakes her head, suddenly standing up and looking towards her left. She’s staring at something intently, as if something is standing right next to her. “Tad says she’s not a demon either, nor is she a witch. Apparently she knows our fathers.”

The boy frowns, standing up the second the girl stands. “You’re going to get us in trouble. Let’s go somewhere else,” he takes a few steps towards the rest of the hallway, not once taking his eyes off the dark haired girl. “Come on, Tori, let’s go this way.”

“Okay, let’s go this way.”

“That’s not what I meant!”

Yet she scampers off anyhow, dark hair flying behind her as she dashes off down the hallway of the Fearamid. There’s more than one way into the throne room; he knows that but he’s not certain how she knows. It’s one odd thing about her, the young boy notes in his head. She always seems to know more than she lets on. He isn’t even sure her own parents know and even if they do know, he isn’t entirely sure they’re going to do anything about it.

It isn’t hard to keep up with her and he easily finds his place by her side once more. She stands in front of the door with a miffed expression on her face, noting the handle and the frame of the double doors. “They’ve placed runes on the door,” she sighs,” arms crossed over her chest. “I don’t know how to remove them. Do you?”

“Does it look like I know?”

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking you.”

A silence falls between them and she sighs, sliding down to sit against the wall. She stares off in front of her for a few moments before she speaks once more. “Tad says they’ll be done soon; then we can find out who this so called important person is.”

Immediately after she speaks, the solid black marble doors opened. Demons and fairies, even some witches, strode out without paying the two children any mind. A few looked, two or three even sneered at them, but none made any effort to contact them. He recognizes the supreme witch, a fourteen year old female who he knows is much older than she appears. She even dresses like a stereotypical witch; the ones he’s seen in old books his mother has given him on occasion. He’s not sure if she dresses like that everyday or if it’s just to be ironic.

Behind the supreme witch, is a woman who he has seen on rare occasions, flanked by two impossibly tall guards. Queen Titania of the Seelie Court. Tall, like all fairies but with an airy sort of grace. Hair like bright cold and glittering cold diamond blue eyes. He had never spoken directly to her but he’d heard the story that she usurped her own husband from his throne and took her place as the sole ruler of the Seelie realm alongside her sister. She marched right past him, not even sparing a glance at him or the girl.

Three more figures walk out and he notices his companion’s eyes light up. “Daddy!” she runs forward, latching onto the leg of the tallest figure that emerged. He’s deathly pale, just like her and his eyes are like a kaleidoscope of colors. Luminescent rings of blue, yellow, and pink. From a distance, as he’s noticed before, they appear as reflective silver mirrors.

Next to him is a man who is somewhat shorter; reaching his shoulder and his eyes are as dark as the little girl’s. He doesn’t smile; he can’t remember the last time he’s seen the tall man smile. Yet when the small girl pulls on his pant leg, he smiles and picks her up, resting her on his hip. A smile he wears only for her, yet even he can tell he’s hiding something behind it.

“Who was the visitor, Māmā?” Tori, as he commonly calls her, turns the dark eyed man’s face towards her to have his attention. Their identical eyes staring into each other’s, one bright and curious while the other dark and a bit agitated. “Tad says it was someone important.”

He rolls his eyes at her comment. “Tad doesn’t exist, stupid.” He would have used a bigger word, but he couldn’t think of any at the moment.

She glares fiercely at him. “He does too!” her mouth curls into an ugly scowl. “And you’re the one who’s stupid! That’s why Tad doesn’t like to talk to you!”

He feels someone sigh from behind him. A hand takes his and he glances up to see his own mother, staring down at him as though he’s going to reprimand him. Beyond chestnut curls on his forehead, he can see the small handle of  the big dipper sign on his forehead. “Aster,” his voice is firm, insisting on his attention yet his face is farway, as though he wants to be somewhere else. “There was no need to call her names. Apologize.”

He sulks, looking back towards his “friend.” “Sorry,” he grumbles, but he doesn’t mean it. He never does. “I didn’t mean to call you stupid.”

The man holding the girl looks to her. “Tori,” his voice is calm, steady in reprimanding her. “What do you say?”

“What?” she looks towards her mother, tilting her head in a manner that reminds him of her father. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Tori-”

“Historia,” her father’s deep, powerful voice resonates warningly as he looks directly at his daughter. “Now.”

She immediately looks to him and sulks. “Sorry,” she grumbles, tucking her head under her mother’s chin.

The double doors open once more revealing two more figures. He feels his mother’s hand tighten around his when they both see his father. Always in a golden yellow suit and an eye patch covered over his right eye, allowing only a golden yellow one to show. A black top hat adorns his head and a cheshire smile making him seem more inhuman than he already is. Just looking at his father makes him tighten his grip on his mother’s hand.

His father reaches out towards his mother, but the other man just flinches away. He pretends not to notice the frown that replaces the grin.

“So this is your spawn, Bill? He looks like his mother, or is he also called father?”

He shifts his gaze to his father’s right to see a woman. Well, he thinks it’s a woman; he’s been told that some demons and other creatures don’t follow mortal gender norms. She doesn’t look quite...human, nor does she resemble a demon or fairy.

It suddenly clicks. This is the visitor that his father and uncle were getting unsettled about. This woman, who stared at him as though she were trying to decide which way she would end his life. Cold eyes. Like hard golden stone.

She’s tall, with statuesque grace and long falling corn silk blonde hair. Her skin is pale, but not the same deathly pale skin as his uncle. Her clothes are old, hinting at ancient patterns yet the chainmail around her chest is modern. It’s as if she’s waiting for a fight. Or waiting to start one, that is. She stops in front of him, kneeling down. “What do they call you, little one?”

“It’s best to answer her, Azzy,” his father comments casually, glancing at her with thinly concealed distaste. “Auntie has a bit of a bad temper when people don’t do what she wants.”

He watches as his mother (he’s not sure what he’s supposed to call him, actually) glare quickly at his father. He isn’t sure what exactly their relationship is either.

He feels a pair of slim fingers grip his chin, tilting it upwards to stare into cold golden eyes. They’re still cold; unfeeling and merciless. “I ask again, little boy,” even the sound of her voice makes him feel cold. “What is your name?”

He looks to his mother, who just nods at him to continue. “Aster,” he speaks politely as to not anger her if at all possible. “Aster Delphius Alioth Cygnus Cipher,” he glances towards his mother, not sure if he should allow his last name in.

She nods. “And when were you born?” she requests softly.

He looks to his mother, who nods at him again. “January 3.” He answers quickly.

She smiles, though it’s not quite a smile. “Interesting,” her voice is so soft he almost couldn’t hear her. She quickly lets go of his chin and stands at her full height, turning slowly around to Tori, who is looking at her shyly. “Aren’t you a pretty thing,” the woman comments with that threatening smile. “And what’s your name?”

Tori blinks at the woman, silently assessing her before looking quickly at her own mother. Her mother, just like his, nods his head. “Tori,” when her mother clears his throat, she amends that statement quickly. “Historia Artemis Ithaca Morgan...Palmer?” she sounds confused and when she looks to her father in affirmation, he just nods his head. She smiles towards the woman. “Palmer. That’s my name.”

“And when were you born?”

“June 10. Why?”

“Historia,” her father warns, looking at her once more. “It would be wise to watch yourself in front of your Aunt.”

The woman just smiles at the six of them. A smile that promises all of them that she knows something they do not. “Interesting,” she repeats again, looking to him and then to Tori. “Very interesting.”

She steps away from them without so much of a goodbye. Only when she’s a few feet away she stops and  turns around. She addresses Tori’s mother, golden eyes staring harshly into his dark gray eyes. “You’re Wuya’s descendent, her abilities run through your veins,” she glances briefly to his daughter, still situated in his arms. “Do her talents flow freely in hers as well?”

He watches as his arms tighten around his daughter ever so slightly, eyes hardening. “That will be revealed in the future.”

“Hmm. Disappointing,” she looks towards his uncle. “Would you not agree, nephew?”

His uncle, with his fascinating multi-colored eyes, just looks stiffly at the woman. “As my bonded said, it will be revealed in the future. Where will you be settling down?”

The woman sighs. “Oh, I haven’t decided yet. It’s been eons since I’ve been able to roam free. I think I’ll explore a bit; see what’s become of the humans.”

With that, she’s gone in a swirl of gold dust, apparating out of the fearamid. Tori reaches over to her father, tugging on his black coat. “Daddy, who was that? Is she my aunt?”

Her father merely glances at her briefly, as though he can’t be bothered to speak to her for too long. “Great-Aunt, actually. If you can avoid being in the same room as her, do so.”

“Okay?”

His father snorted, and once again he noticed his mother flinch when he wrapped an arm around him. “It’s a nuisance she’s back. Do you even know how she got out?”

His uncle shook his head, eyes turning to the spot where the strange woman, his aunt, had once stood. “No, I must say I am quite perplexed. However, there is one thing I am certain of. She is not to be trusted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is confused why two men are referred to as "mother" is because the kids aren't exactly sure what they are supposed to call them since they are men, but are the ones who conceived them. Since it's typically females who carry children. This will be explained! As soon as I think of a good reason!
> 
> Aster is the Greek word for star. It's also a flower, but I named him with relation to the star. Kind of in reflection of the big dipper sign on Dipper's forehead. I don't know, I thought I was being clever. While creating him, I stumbled on some pictures of reverse!Dipper, so when Aster's seen or mentioned, just think of reverse!Dipper and there you go!
> 
> As for Tori "Historia," I was catching up on Shingeki no Kyojin (Attack on Titan) and the name kind of stuck. Originally it was going to be Flora, but I couldn't get Historia out of my head, so there it is. It might sound weird, but while creating her, I couldn't get Sarada Uchiha out of my head. So she is loosely based on her. Just without glasses and short hair. I know she's Japanese, but since Sarada lives in the Naruto universe, is she really? I would like to note while I have a base design for characters, their personalities are different and it is not my intention to stick characters from other fandoms in. 
> 
> But who are all these mysterious characters coming in? Hmmm we will have to find out! Please tell me what you think!


	3. I want you here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beatrice makes an appearance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, school's back in session! I'm pretty busy during the week, so weekends are probably the best bets for updates. If I can try to squeeze one in, I'll try but as I've mentioned before, school comes first. Since I probably won't be doing anything over Spring Break aside from possibly going home, I'll probably have more time to update. But that's not for another month and a half.

_I wanna scream,_

_Is this a dream?_

_How could this happen,_

_Happen to me?_

_This isn't fair,_

_This nightmare,_

_This kind of torture,_

_I just can't bear,_

_I want you here_

_~I want you here by Plumb~_

**(Gravity Falls, December 11, 2025)**

If there’s anything he hated more than The Beast, was getting the silent treatment from his mother.

She’s not happy with him, that’s for certain. He knows she’s unhappy with him by the way she doesn’t want to speak with him at the moment. It’s annoying now that everyone knows about his dreams; that his small little space of privacy has been invaded. He knows that eventually his mother will want to talk, once her thoughts have been gathered and she knows what she wants to say. So for now, he has to wait.

He trudges his tired body up the stairs, mood soured by his worn out limbs and foul mood. After the strange woman left, he took his frustration out on some innocent trees. Two of which, were no longer standing thanks to his blade.

The person he’s most upset with is Katia.

Mostly because she snitched on him when he specifically told her not to. Though the more he thought about it, it shouldn’t have surprised him. She always did what she thought was right, no matter anyone else’s opinion on it. Still, the annoyance that sat in his stomach was still present, ready to lash out on anyone else.

“You’re looking gloomier than usual.”

He jumped in surprise, not expecting to see the little bluebird that was currently perched on the banister, black eyes twinkling at him in amusement. “Beatrice,” he can’t help but smile at her, watching as she opened her wings and flew upwards, landing on his shoulder. “You’re back!”

“Clearly,” if she could smirk, she would be doing so right now. “And you look upset. Did you and your girlfriend get into a quarrel again?”

He rolled his eyes at her teasing. “So you heard about that, huh?” he sighs through his nose while she in turn rolls her own eyes. “Katia just kind of threw me under the bus today.”

“That’s it?” Beatrice asked skeptically, her little bird eyes mimicking her tone. “Greg, everyone is concerned with you. Why didn’t you tell anyone about the dreams? Do we mean that little to you?”

Leave it to Beatrice to be blunt like that. She actually looked genuinely upset, glaring at him with a mixture of hurt and worry. This is the exact reason he didn’t tell anyone about the dreams, excluding Katia who always woke him up in the morning. “I didn’t want anyone to worry,” he says softly, watching as the anger disappeared from her small eyes. “We have more important things to focus on.”

“You mean Wirt.”

He wants to ignore the stab of pain when his brother’s name is mentioned. He wants to ignore the guilt and shame, but he can’t. Whenever the elder’s name is mentioned, it returns. The wound to the soul that can’t heal until he fixes his mistake. Until he gets his brother back. Beatrice studies him carefully before laying a small wing on his face. “It’s not your fault, Greg,” her voice is surprisingly gentle for someone who usually is sarcastic. “You were eight years old. What could you have done?”

He swallowed back the nausea, another stab to the heart occurring in his chest. “You’re right,” he looks at her, feeling more tired than he did a few minutes ago. “I was a stupid kid who only saw the good in everything. I should have done something, but I didn’t. That’s my burden to bear.”

They’ve had this conversation before; actually he’s had this conversation with everyone but they just don’t seem to understand. None of them understand. Not even his mother, who was only a few feet away from him when The Beast snatched his brother away. Yet she had abilities; the ones he had only acquired after watching his brother vanish from his eyes. No longer was he that useless little boy.

“Have you found anything yet?” he decides it would be best to change the topic. What was the point of pouring salt into old wounds? “Any sign of more demon activity?”

She shakes her little bird head. “Ashley said he saw the Fearamid floating over New York City, but by the time Mary and I got there, it had long gone. He mentioned there was a tone of supernatural energy; that something big was happening. I’m just glad he wasn’t spotted.”

He nodded his head, a mixture of relief and slight agitation mixing together. Relief in the sense that Ashley and the rest of Beatrice’s siblings were not hurt, and agitation that they were no closer in tracking down where his brother and Dipper were. Almost nine years had gone by and the frustration that they weren’t any closer kept growing.

“I’ll be flying out again soon. We will find Wirt one day, Greg,” Beatrice spoke honestly, like she was trying to reassure him and herself. “We’ll find them both and then-”

“The world isn’t going back to the way it was, Beatrice,” he lifted her from his shoulder, allowing her to perch on his hand. “If we get them back, I don’t know what will happen. If the Nightmare realm disappears or The Unknown goes back to the otherside. I don’t know what will happen to you or your family. But I do know we can’t go back to the way things were.”

It sounded more depressing than he originally planned, but he was not one to sugarcoat the truth. Inside his heart, guarded and hurt as it might be, he would truly give anything he had just so things could go back to the way it was. He also knew it was not possible.

The first time he had the dream, in the middle of the night sobbing quietly. That was the only time the dream had been different. It was like watching a play; more specifically, watching his life play out. He couldn’t look away from the images, even though he tried many times. Forced to watch himself growing up, happy, alongside his parents and siblings. Watching Wirt’s graduation, Yin Wei’s first day of school and Wirt’s first day of college. His own graduation, Wirt’s graduation. Even Wirt getting married, though he couldn’t remember who he was getting married to. He even saw himself getting married. With Katia of all people.

He broke out of his thoughts, looking down towards Beatrice who was staring pensively back at him. “Sorry,” he muttered, a finger stroking gently on her small bird head in a silent form of apology. “Didn’t mean to space out on you.”

Beatrice only shrugged her little bird shoulders. “Well, Wirt was spacey, so it’s no surprise to me that you are. I wouldn’t even be surprised if it’s a family thing.”

“Don’t let my mom hear you say that,” he teased, giving a faint smile at the thought of his mother hearing that. “You know, Beatrice, if somehow we do get through all this, I hope we can return you and your family to your original forms.”

Even though she couldn’t smile like a human, her eyes began to shine with a kind of warmth. “That’s sweet of you,” her voice is clear of any amusement, any agitation. “But even if you can’t, it doesn’t matter to me. As long as my family and I are together. We’re safe and doing okay, so that’s what’s important.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely,” she nods her head, and then proceeds to stare at him the way Wirt use to look at him when he was being too noisy or inappropriate. “But there’s something you need to hear, Greg. You need to let all this self-anger go. You’ll be no help to Wirt if you’re going to be a revenge-crazed lunatic.”

“I’m not revenge-crazed!”

“Yes, you are,” Beatrice presses on, lifting herself from his hand to hover in the air, directly in front of his face. “Gregory Nathaniel MaCavin, you are probably the most revenge-crazed person I have ever seen. It’s not good for you; it’s unhealthy and makes everyone worried. It’ll be the death of you one day.”

He makes a face at her. “You’re beginning to sound like my mother.”

“Good. Now, go to bed,” she’s using her older sister tone, once again sounding just like Wirt when he used his “older brother authority” on him. “Children your age need sleep.”

“I’m eighteen!” he exclaims, though not out of anger. “I’m not a child.”

She just gives him that little bird smirk of hers and then flutters off, the echo of wings brushing by his ear. He stands alone in the hallway, looking directly at the door to his room. The house is cold. Not in the physical sense; the heat is turned on, but the reminder of the life and warmth that used to be there is hollowing. While material things have changed, the memories are still present in his mind. He can’t even enter Wirt’s bedroom anymore.

He used to sleep in there during the month of his absence. The pillow still smelled like his older brother, still smelled like the shampoo he would use. He only stopped sleeping there when it became too painful, when the comforting reminder of his brother disappeared. Everything else in his room hadn’t been touched. His clarinet sat in its case, waiting for its owner to play it once again. Even the poem he’d been writing that day still sat open on his desk, ready to be written in once more.

He walks carefully over to the door, hand resting tentatively on the doorknob. Opening the door would be easy, but he can’t bring himself to do it. He can’t bring himself to keep poking the wound on his soul. He opens the door to his sister’s room, smiling softly at the scene. She has his old race car bed, even though she’s a little big for it now. She’s going on eleven in two months and her feet hit the footboard. It’s odd to see such a mature little girl sleeping in a childish looking bed, but it was all they could scavenge when he outgrew it. She’s fast asleep with a peaceful expression on her young face.

He doesn’t want to disturb the scene so he quietly shuts the door, shuffling back to his room. Unsurprisingly, as he opens the door, Katia is waiting for him. Sitting on the window seat, gazing out the frost covered glass. Doodles have been made into the glass, ranging from crooked hearts and stars. He sighed, shutting the door quietly behind him and heads over to stand directly in the center of his room.

She looks up from the pictures she drew and he can’t exactly place the emotion that’s swimming in her eyes. Or maybe he does and doesn’t want to acknowledge it.

“What do you want?” he doesn’t mean to sound rude or unkind, but the question still stands. She’s not usually in his room unless she has something to say or they’re hanging out after a day of training.

“You know I’m just worried about you, right?” her voice is soft, barely above a whisper. “I know you’re upset with me.”

He doesn’t say anything at first, merely heads over to where she’s sitting and takes a seat down right across from her. They sit at the opposite ends, not saying anything for a while. It’s an uncomfortable silence and he’s being honest when he inwardly admits that he hates it when they’re at odds with each other. She’s making a great point of not looking at him, cheeks dusted pink as she looks out the window.

“I was just looking out for you,” she starts once more, still looking out the window. “I’m not sorry for telling your parents.”

“No one asked you to,” he grumbles, running a hand tiredly through his hair. “It’s none of your business.”

“It is when you are someone very important to me,” her gaze is fierce when she turns her head to look at him. She’s unapologetic in her tone, and if there’s a slight ounce of regret for ratting him out, he can’t find it. She draws her knees into herself, hair forming a curtain as she rests her chin down. “I can’t stand seeing you like this. I’m not able to do anything about it, so I thought if everyone else knew, something could be done.”

He sighs, some of the anger dwindling down. Not all of it, but he’s less irritated than he was a few hours ago. “You can’t always go doing whatever you want just because you think it’s right,” he says firmly, holding her gaze evenly. “You should have asked first.”

She’s not entirely pleased by that statement, but he knows that she knew better than to ignore it. Even if she’s a bit stung by what he said, she doesn’t show it. “I didn’t intend for your feelings to be hurt, though I might have ignored that bit when I explained everything,” she sighs, pushing some of her hair back. “I understand you're upset with me, but I just want you to know I only did it out of concern. I didn’t do it to embarrass you.”

“Still, you should have warned me or something,” he counters, crossing his arms over his chest. “And like I said before, it wasn’t your business.”

“It is when it affects all of us!” she’s glaring now, quickly getting as defensive as he is. “What if it’s something important; something we should know! Those eyes you mentioned, what if it’s someone who is out to get us?”

He has nothing to say to that and he hates to admit that she has a point. He doesn’t understand the dream and she doesn’t either. Yet she wants to dig at it much further than he does. She’s never been one to shy away from problems and at times he doesn’t recognize her from the shy girl she used to be in school.

Then again, the more he thinks about it, they’ve all changed.

“I can look out for myself. I don’t need you to do it for me,” he shakes his head slightly, picking a piece of lint off his jeans in an attempt to ignore the anger in her eyes. “I’m not your kid brother.”

“You think I don’t know that?” she snaps at him, lifting her head up to look at him with full attention. “I lost my family once, Gregory. Do you really think I need to be reminded that I’m not apart of your family?”

From the lamp on the ceiling, the light bulbs shatter and explode across the floor. She groans, closing her eyes briefly and placing a hand on her forehead, as though she had a headache. “I’m sorry,” she twists around, feet slipping into the shoes that lay in front of the sitting space. “I’ll go get a broom and clean it up.”

He grabs her wrist and doesn’t fail to notice the bright flush that spreads across her cheeks. The guilt hits him like a smack in the face. He brought up as sore subject; bring up words before he had a chance to even think about them. He poked at the wound to her own soul, bringing up a reminder of that painful night. He stands up, her grip on her wrist firm but not strong enough to hurt her.

“I’m sorry,” he offers quietly and she turns to look at him, the same amount of guilt in her own blue eyes. He lets go of her wrist, watching as it drops closely to her side. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m really sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” it’s not something he thought he’d hear her say, but the guilt is evident. “It’s my fault; I caused all this tension. I just...I don’t like seeing you like this. These dreams, they’re not normal Greg. I just want…”

“I know,” he finishes, knowing exactly what she wants. “You just want things to be normal.”

“Yeah,” she smiles wanly, no pleasantry in it. “I want a lot of things I can’t have, I guess.”

He nods, understanding completely what she means. He knows what she’d give anything for; anything to get what she once had back. “We can’t go back,” he says to her, watching as her face tightens with slight agitation. “We can’t bring the past back.”

“I know,” she mutters, brushing her hair back. “There’s nothing to go back to.”

She leaves, and he can hear her footsteps down the hall as she treads down the stairs. He studies the broken glass on the floor and he can’t help but feel like the world is slowly breaking down around him once more.

He silently wishes things would go right for a change.

~

**(Unknown destination,**

“And then what happened, Māma?”

“The boy and his brother used the bell to tell the spirit to leave the young girl alone forever. To leave and never bother her again. The young girl was finally free of the evil spirit tormenting her and forcing her to kill. The young girl happily returned home with her aunt to begin a new life, free from never ending chores. The boys, the older one slightly distressed, continued on their journey through The Unknown.”

“And that’s it? How did they leave? They did get back home, right?”

With a thin, tired smile, Wirt only shakes his head benevolently. “That’s a story for another time. It’s time for you to go to bed,” he watches with amusement as she pouts, an echoing reminder of something he used to do as a child when his own mother was done telling stories. “I’ll tell you another one tomorrow night.”

The bedroom has a soft glow about it, warm and relaxing. The only room in the manor that is like that, if he is really being honest. The soft white marble walls and flower are brightened by the torches lining the walls, turning off only when the owner of the bedroom falls asleep or leaves. The room is neat, organized without a single thing out of place. Toys put away in a large toy chest and the books on her shelf as listed alphabetically. The shelf across it has dolls, antique dolls she’s collected over her short years of existence. A few of them, though not to his surprise, are headless.

The child’s bedroom has a victorian theme to it, the only thing darkening the room is the very large dollhouse that’s entirely painted black. It’s an exact replica of the home she’s grown up in; the only one she’s ever known. Her canopy bed rests on top a circular platform, the small child nestled in the white fluffed pillows and blanket.

He strokes her dark hair comfortingly, and she smiles at him with absolute love and adoration in her eyes. He finds it strange some days how she looks similar to him, the two of them even sharing some habits and traits. And then some days, she’s so completely different he even wonders how on earth it was possible for him to conceive such a strong willed child.

As she gazes up at him, their identical colored eyes meet. “Māma?” she asks, her head tilting in a way that makes his stomach roll. He hates it when she does that. It makes her look like her father.

“What is it?” he answers back, trying not to let the unease show.

She sits up slight, her straight dark hair falling past her shoulder and when she blinks, her long lashes flutter against her cheek bones. “Were the two brothers real?” she asks innocently, staring at him in curiosity. “And why is the older brother so sad all the time?”

He’s surprised at her question, mouth dropping a little in shock. She’s young, but he never believed she could be this perceptive. Then he realizes how stupid that statement sounds. Of course children were perceptive. Some more than others, of course. She awaits his answer patiently, still staring up at him with those dark eyes.

“Well,” he’s not sure how to answer this. She’s much too young to fully comprehend that the older brother was himself. That he and Greg, only eleven long years ago, fell over the garden wall. That it was his fault he almost got them both killed. He certainly can’t tell her that the creature that stalked the two of them during their journey is her father. He’s not going to shove that burden on her. Perhaps not ever.

“I don’t know if the two brothers are real, they might be,” it’s the best he can offer her right now, trying to ignore the twinge of guilt when she looks disappointed. “I think the older brother just had a lot on his plate. A lot of sadness that he took out on everyone else.”

His daughter nods her head, surprisingly looking solemn for someone her age. “I hope they get home,” she tells him as she snuggles back down into her pillows. “I hope the two of them are happy for the rest of their lives.”

He feels her small hand reach up, gingerly touching the left half of his face and ghost over his unseeing left eye. “Māma?” her voice is innocent, blunt in the sense he knows what she’s going to ask. “What happened to your eye?”

“I’ll tell you...another time

He feels the tears sting at the back of his eyes, but he won’t cry in front of her. The last thing he needs is for her to be asking more questions and begin to worry. He tucks her in, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “Good night,” he whispers and steps away from the bed, stepping down from the small platform and towards the door. He only stops when he hears her voice once more.

“Māma?”

“Yes?”

She’s still tucked into her bed, so he can only see her head when she looks at him. “Can I go to the Winter Solstice party with you and Daddy? Azzy gets to go, so why can’t I?”

There is no way in hell he’s letting his daughter go to that party. He’s never felt comfortable around demons and witches, and he’s never trusted the fairies. He’s seen what they do to humans. He knows what happens to them at the end. The demons are no better. She’s never been to one of these parties and she’s much too young to go. “We’ll see,” is the final answer he gives her. Which by this point in her life, that answer usually means “no.”

He closes the door and steps into the dark hallway. The only thing illuminating the black marble walls are the torches and they cast a warm glow over his face as he slowly walks down the hall. His room is on the other side of the hallway, past the many guest rooms that he’s never really ventured into. The only time they’re ever used is when they have visitors over, which seems to be quite a lot, recently.

His mind reflects back to the gathering earlier. While he normally hated attending them, this one was by far the most interesting. He wouldn’t deny he felt a cruel sense of satisfaction when he noticed how bewildered his “husband” looked when the visitor first introduced herself. He even noticed a slight glint of fear flash through his eyes.

He even noticed it in Bill.

Her eyes were unnatural. Solid hard gold, like rocks. He didn’t know who she was, though for whatever reason, he felt as if he knew someone like her. He didn’t like her. Even when looking at her during the meeting, he knew full well to be wary of her. She wasn’t a demon or a fairy, so she had to be something else entirely. Something old and ancient.

_“Do her talents flow freely in hers as well?”_

He didn’t like the way the woman spoke. The way she spoke about his great-grandmother; about his family legacy. He also didn’t like the way she looked at his daughter, as though she were some sort of specimen she wanted to dissect.

“I don’t see why you don’t want her to go. You can’t keep her away from her own kind forever.”

Standing in front of him is the one person he doesn’t want to see right now. The Beast, or Cernunnos as he now prefers to be called, looks at him with amused beautifully colored eyes. He hasn’t changed over the past few years; he’s still deathly pale, something their daughter got from him. He smirks at him, the one expression he’s often seen wearing aside from one of boredom.

He glares at his husband. “She’s not like them, you know that. She’s not like _you_.”

“You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

He snorts, and he knows the older being hates it when he does that when he’s speaking to him. “Isn’t it though?” he counters, reveling in the annoyance that crosses the demon’s features. They’ve had this conversation before; numerous of times, in fact. He steps closer towards the demon, no fear in his eyes. “She’s not completely a demon. There’s her humanity too, or did you forget that?”

The Beast doesn’t answer at first, he just steps closer to the point they’re only standing inches from each other. A pale hand rests gently on his cheek, turning it up to look at him. He’s no fool in thinking this simple gesture is gentle or even remotely kind. “I could easily squish her humanity out,” his low voice purrs in his ear and he can hear the thinly veiled threat lying in it. “She’s never been around other humans besides yourself and perhaps Bill’s bondmate. And you’re not completely human, either.”

He glares fiercely at him. “She’s not going,” he’s leaning into the touch, which is completely involuntary and he knows his husband takes enjoyment out of it. He then shoves him back, a small rush of thrill when he sees the annoyance cross over the demon’s features. “I won’t have her turn into something despicable like _you_.”

He’s suddenly pushed back against the nearest wall, his entire being pressed against the demon’s. If he had a heartbeat, he would be able to feel it. “I’m not really that bad, am I?” he half purrs, half hisses to him, hypnotic eyes holding his. “I think you’re being a bit of a hypocrite with those accusations. Do you not remember _that night.”_

He feels a whole wave of guilt and shame crash over his body at the reminder. A night he would rather forget and push to the back of his mind. He feels the other hand dance up his body, pushing the dark material of his shirt aside and cool lips brush up his neck. “I hate you,” he grounds out.

He feels the other smirk. “We both know that’s not completely true, now is it?”

He shoves the demon back against the other wall, close enough so that their foreheads are touching and their breaths mingle together. He doesn’t say anything but merely presses their lips together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The past is going to be brought up A LOT. Just giving everyone a forewarning. I also feel the song at the beginning really fits Greg right now. I looked it up and was like "woah" this is exactly what I was thinking of. If you haven't heard the full song, I highly suggest you do.
> 
> If anyone's put off by Greg's attitude, I don't blame you. But stuff like this changes people. As we go, we'll be including more characters. I just didn't want to throw them at you all in one chapter. And if anyone's wondering about Wirt, that will be developed in further chapters. I'm not going to rush into the first story point just so we can get familiar with everyone. You feelin' me?
> 
> Anyways, I wish you are all safe and well. Good luck with whatever you're doing. I'm taking an Epidemiology class and so far, I'm not really liking the professor. But I need the science and Global Sustainability credit, so this'll have to do. Cheerio!


	4. Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg speaks with Auntie Whispers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been two months since I last updated! To tell you the truth, I've had a lack of motivation to work on it. I would open the doc. up and nothing came to me. I've also been really busy with schoolwork, so there's that too. I'm not abandoning it, so I hope no one's worried! I've felt more inspired to work on other things, but this story will continue. I just don't want to put out chapters I'm not feeling good about, you know what I mean?
> 
> Also, Crazy in Love should be finished soon. I know, it's been four months since that's been updated, but a lot is going to happen in the final chapter. After that, the next installment is not going to be pleasant. Recall The Law of Gravity chapter where The Beast possessed Mort's body? Well, the one shot is going to be an alternative ending on that chapter. I told you the series is dark and twisted.

_I'm here again,_

_A thousand miles away from you,_

_A broken mess,_

_Just scattered pieces of who I am,_

_I tried so hard,_

_Thought I could do this on my own,_

_I've lost so much along the way_

_~Pieces by Red~_

**(December 12, Gravity Falls, Oregon)**

Naturally, Auntie Whispers and Lorna chose a home on the northern outskirts of Gravity Falls.

He shivered as the bitter wind slapped him across the face, stinging at his eyes and causing his nose to become red with cold. The sky is overcast, bringing the promise of cold rain or even worse, snow. Despite the sky sometimes turning different shades, weather seemed to remain in tact. At least, in their town. Last summer when he ventured out with the others to find survivors, the weather had been chaotic. A Blizzard in uptown Eugene city and at the south end, it was so hot and dry, like it hadn’t rained there for a while.

He glances over his shoulder, scanning over the other houses just as a precaution. Most of these homes were abandoned at this point, yet there were others with boarded up windows just to give the illusion that no one lived there. Yet he can remember so long ago when this neighborhood was so full of life. Now, it served as a hollow reminder of just how tragic things had become. 

“Come on, Yin Wei,” he pauses in his walk, turning slightly to wait for his sister. She’s at least ten feet behind him, struggling to walk in the harsh wind blowing in their direction. 

She glares in annoyance, huffing loudly so he can hear her irritation. Her cheeks are dark pink, black hair flying everywhere in the cold wind. “I’m coming,” she grumbles, making a small attempt to walk faster. “Why are we in a rush?”

When she catches up to him, he takes her small mitten covered hand. She doesn’t protest; she knows exactly why he’s clutching her hand despite the fact she claims she’s “a big girl.” Then he remembers how small she used to be. That when the world ended, she was barely more than a year old. She’s had a crappy childhood and nothing can be done to change that.

It’s probably why he’s so protective of her. 

“I’m hungry,” she rubs her belly and looks at him expectantly. “Do you think Auntie Whispers has any of that turtle soup she gave us last time?”

“Maybe,” he comments, though he’s not really paying attention. “If you ask her nicely, maybe she’ll give some to you. Why didn’t you eat lunch?”

“Mom and I got caught up in training.”

“Ah, that explains it.”

He remembers his training days and if anything were up there looking out for them, he would have thanked them allowing them to be done. He feels her grip his hand a bit tighter as another strong gust of wind blows directly at them. It stings his dark eyes and he hears Yin Wei give a small grunt of discomfort. He looks down at her and she doesn’t even need to speak. Her face explains everything. 

She’s only ten, but she looks so tired and it’s only a little bit past one in the afternoon. Their mother took training seriously and since their brother’s abduction, it had become much more intense. He didn’t blame her. He lost a brother and she lost her first child. They both had mutual agreement in that aspect.

His sister may have lost a brother, but she doesn’t have the personal connection they do. She was only a baby, no memory of her oldest brother at all. She had to find her own reason for fighting; her own reason to survive this world. 

She huffs again, the grip on his hand tightening ever so slightly. “Why does Katia not like this place? She never comes with us when we go visit Auntie Whispers and Lorna.”

If he recalls correctly, she was just about to turn three when Katia started living with them and she views the girl as her older sister. She has no memory of that awful night. She doesn’t remember the smell of blood clogging up her nose and the atrocities that happened only eight years before. It still lingers in his mind, a dull reminder of just how ugly and monstrous the creatures that invaded his world are. 

“We’re here!” she lets go of his hand, rushing over to the wooden door to knock loudly on it. “Auntie Whispers! Lorna! We’re here!”

He’s always happy to see Lorna, no matter the situation. Dark almond shaped eyes light up when she sees them, immediately dropping the broom to wrap her arms around his younger sister. There’s a fire going on in the fireplace, illuminating the room with cheery warmth. He doesn’t see Whispers anywhere but he knows she’s here, somewhere in the small two bedroom house. 

“Gregory!” he lets Lorna wrap her arms around him, pulling him in for a gentle and loving embrace. “How have you been? I’m so sorry we missed yesterday’s meeting; Auntie Whispers had a little bit of a cold. It really is getting nasty out there.”

“I’m fine,” he smiles at her, releasing her small frame. “We’re here to get Katia’s medicine and hopefully lunch for Yin Wei,” he glances over at his sister who’s not paying attention now, opting to play with one of the turtles from the baskets. “And I need to talk to Whispers about something. Is she feeling any better?”

“I believe so,” Lorna glances upstairs, head tilted slightly. “I’ll go check in a moment; she said something about needing to speak with you as well,” she gives him another smile, stepping gracefully to his sister and placing a hand on her shoulder. “We made some turtle soup. Would you like some?”

“Yes please,” he gives a tiny smirk at the relief in Yin Wei’s voice, but it soon fades when she speaks once more. “Did you know Greg got in a fight with Katia? Mom says he doesn’t know a damn thing about women.”

“I did not know that. Also, don’t swear; it’s unlady like.”

“Okay. Greg isn’t very nice sometimes.”

He makes a face, though neither of them see it. Girls, he snorts. Gossipy as always. He stands in the middle of the living room, feeling almost a little out of place. He’s the only one there, listening the chatter going on in the kitchen as Yin Wei tells the older woman about her day. There’s a dull ache in his head and he inwardly groans. The ache picks the worst time emerge, always when he least expects it too. He tears his gaze forcefully away from the basket full of turtles, swallowing down the bitter feeling. 

“If I remember correctly, you two hid in the baskets to avoid me.”

He turns his body to the new voice sounding from the middle of the stairs. Auntie Whispers trudges downwards, nose a bit pink and eyes a bit watery from being sick. He feels slightly inconvenient for bothering her, but the old woman only gives him a smile that makes her eyes crinkle. “It’s good to see you, Gregory. You’re looking well.”

“You too, Auntie Whispers,” he nods to her, mindful of not to go too close to her since she’s sick. “How are you feeling?”

“Just a bit under the weather, that’s all. Nothing a little rest and soup won’t fix,” the old woman says dismissively as she walks towards one of the door. He follows her down to the basement, the creaky old stairs groaning underneath their combined weight. There are shelves upon shelves of medicines; bottles full of strange looking liquids and herbs tied up above on the ceiling. He can’t hear his sister or Lorna anymore. Auntie Whispers grabs a bottle from off the table, handing it towards him. “She knows how to take it. It should keep the spasms under control.”

“That’s a relief,” he sighs, remembering what happened last night. They’re down to their last lightbulb now. “She had one last night; took out my bedroom light.”

The tired worn smile that was set on her face fades, her eyes deepening with thought. There’s a seat by the table covered with bowls and bottles used for making elixirs and potions. She’s troubled by something, he can see it on her face as her fingers wring together in her lap. “She won’t be able to hold it in forever; I fear it might be getting worse now,” there’s a pause for a moment before her bulbous eyes meet his again. “It’s tricky with her situation. I don’t know how much longer these potions will work for her; I’ve never dealt with someone who’s half fey.”

“So what will happen then?”

“Hard to say,” she sighs, eyeing the bottle in his hand. “As of now, the light inside of her is unstable. Her mother was a seelie fey, which is not surprising considering the fact they interact with humans more. It’s rare for a fairy to conceive a child with a human. Even more uncommon is for the halfling to stay with the mortal parent.”

He frowns, tilting his head to the side. “She had her mom, remember? She forsook her immortality to stay with the man she fell in love with. Do fairies even feel love?”

“Well obviously,” Whispers rolls her huge eyes, a small twitch to her lips at the question she deemed to be silly. “I don’t know much about the nature of the fae; only that they aren’t as strictly tied to the laws of nature unlike demons. Different origins, as you know. Besides, everyone knows how Katia feels about you.”

He can’t help the burning sensation in his cheeks at the ancient woman’s implications. It’s annoying, really, how many times the subject has been brought up. He’s not ignorant; he knows how his close friend feels about him. He’s felt it too, at times. The strange feeling of butterflies that flutter around in his stomach. The rush of relief everytime he sees her once more after a mission, satisfied with the knowledge that she’s safe. It’s a cruel world, full of unkindness that they both have experienced in dramatically different ways. Two odd broken souls that fit together just right. He’s her rock; she his. His comrade. The one person he would gladly run into a fight with.

He’s just, as Beatrice says when she brings the topic up, an idiot when it comes to feelings. It hurts even more when he remembers that it didn’t always use to be this way. 

He shakes the reverie away, drifting out of the solace of his mind. Whispers isn’t even looking at him anymore and he nearly does a double take when he notices she’s not in the chair anymore. She’s by a bookshelf near the stairs, searching for something rather intently. He’s about to ask her what she’s looking for when she cuts him off. “Gregory,” she starts, returning back to him while flipping through worn manilla colored pages. “What do you know about Leviathans?”

“Leviathans?”

The very word sends an unnatural ring of alarm in his brain. There’s a slight tingle in his head as though he has an itch but when he brings his hand up to scratch it, there’s nothing. Whispers stares at him solemnly. “They’re your ancestors,” she sets the book down on the messy table and he can barely make out the old faded writing. “The ones that existed long before the demons, faeries, and witches.”

There’s a picture of one. One that he recognizes almost immediately. “The Morrigan,” he speaks so quietly it’s almost a whisper. “Wirt killed her.”

“I almost didn’t think it was possible,” the old woman shakes her head. “But there’s been echoes in the shadows of what he did. The others didn’t take it lightly. All the catastrophic weather that happened soon after was because of their anger.”

“Where are they?” he asks and there’s a sudden rush of fear. If they were out, could Wirt be in danger? Did they want revenge? “Why haven’t we seen any of them.”

“They’re locked up in various places in the world; I don’t know where exactly,” Whispers glances briefly at him, running a finger down the page as she continues to read. “But their prisons won’t hold forever. The Morrigan was purposefully released so they could have the blood of an archon, that’s another word for their kind, but it wasn’t easy. Those runes binding them are ancient, I imagine. Probably took an army of witches and demons to break her seal. But…”

He narrows his eyes. “What?”

“Your mother explained your dream to me. I suppose Katia explained it to her but from what it sounds like, they won’t be imprisoned for much longer,” there’s worry evident in her tone and she furrows her eyes. There’s a long silence between them and from upstairs, he can still hear the chattering and laughter from his sister and Lorna. There’s the sound of a sink going, so Yin Wei must be done with her soup or helping Lorna with dishes; he doesn’t know, but he’s glad they’re having a good time. Not down here learning of information that could possibly have terrible consequences. When Whispers speaks again, it nearly scares him. “Artanis,” she gives a small shake at the very name. “I know full well she’s been released. The runes on her prison must have finally broken.”

She flips a few pages in the book and he leans forward to look at the image. There’s a woman, or what appears to be one of the Leviathans in the shape of a woman. She’s tall, with long straight cornsilk blonde hair and cruel golden eyes. Very much like the ones he’s seen in his dreams. She’s dressed in a bronze metal piece that he’s never seen before, giving him the implication that it’s old. Very, very old. The expression on her face screams of blood lust, of power and a need to dominate. “Artanis,” he reads aloud. “Artanis, the imperious. I’m going to take a wild guess and assume she’s not here to help?”

She makes a face at him, clearly not impressed with his sarcasm. “She is most certainly not here to help us. She hates everything other than her own kind. Even her nieces and nephews. If she’s released, than that means the others won’t be far behind.”

“How many are there?”

“Originally, there were eleven. Now there’s only eight. Two females and seven males. All equally furious, I imagine,” she shivers uncharacteristically and for a moment he swears the candles on the tables flicker ominously. “The Morrigan was the Queen, her husband and brother the King.”

“Ew.”

“Their genetics work differently; they’re not related in the sense that humans are,” she smiles though at his reaction. “You wouldn’t be here if Morrigan and Mairon had never lain together. They’re your great, great, great, grandparents, Gregory. And do mind these names are the ones they are most commonly referred by.”

He really did not want to know this. He wanted to throw up somewhere at the mere thought of his ancestors doing it and thus creating the demon race. Regardless if his great, great, grandmother was created in the process. “This Mairon,” he takes a deep breath in an attempt. “If Morrigan was the...archon of death or whatever, what is he?”

She flips through the book once more, finding the name relatively easy. There’s a tall creature covered entirely in armor, wielding what appears to be an ancient looking scythe or glaive. He’s incredibly tall, even taller than The Beast but they both share the same intimidating stance that intends to strike fear into the hearts of the weak and strong alike. Not someone he’d want to piss off unless he was sure of victory. 

“The archon of time, or he was, at least,” Whispers answers. “The Time Baby stole his power. And then when Bill killed the Time Baby, he has the power. I don’t think you have to kill a deity to take their power, but something must have happened since it was Morrigan who locked her own husband away.”

He can’t imagine why but there’s a flicker of doubt waving in his mind. No one just locks away the person, or creature, they love without proper cause. He knows the Morrigan kidnapped his brother right before he killed her, so he must know something he doesn’t. He hates not knowing things, especially when they involve the fate of the whole world. 

He needs some damn ibuprofen. Now.

“There’s something I need to ask you,” headache aside, he pushes through it, catching her attention once more. “Yesterday, when I went out, I ran into someone.”

“Who?”

“I’m not sure,” his frown matches hers, kindred spirits in the basement full of gloom. “She called herself She Who Watches.”

He watches as Whispers’ eyes light up in surprise, her hands slipping from the book and nearly sliding it off the table. There’s a momentary pause of stunned silence while she blinks owlishly at him, completely taken aback by his response. “That’s a name I haven’t heard in a while,” she’s completely astounded, but the surprise is fading away into suspicion. “No one knows who she really is.”

“She’s not a demon, is she? I feel,” he stops, contemplating not saying what he’s about to say, but then decides to anyway. He can’t describe it exactly; he knows it sounds completely strange but he feels as though he knows her. That somewhere in his life, he’s met her before but he can’t possibly say where. “I feel like I know her.”

“I doubt you have,” Whispers waves him, shaking her enormous head. “But I can see what you’re saying. She’s got a reputation in the underground. Mysterious little thing, she is. No one knows her real name, but I don’t suspect she’s a demon. You would know.”

He’s about to say more, but she closes the book. “You and your sister should be heading home; the snow’s going to get deeper,” there’s a wan smile on her old face, making her look more tired than usual. “I wouldn’t want you to worry your mother; she worries enough as it is.”

Mostly about him, Wirt, and Yin Wei, he muses to himself. He empathizes with it, even though he can’t possibly begin to understand how it feels to lose a child. He lost his brother, so it’s something along those lines. Yet it’s not the same. Their mother has been with them long before they were out of her womb. There’s a connection he won’t ever have, one only a mother and child can have. 

“Greg?”

He’s broken out of his thoughts at the sound of Yin Wei’s voice. She’s standing in the middle of the stairs, dressed in her coat and mittens. “Greg?” she sounds again, narrowing her dark eyes in concern. “Are you okay? You look like you’re going to be sick all over Auntie Whispers’ floor.”

“I’m fine,” he shrugs her off, still clutching the bottle in his hands tightly as he makes his way towards the stairs. She’s already out the basement door when he turns back to the old witch. “What do you suppose we do?” he asks softly, not even sure if she’s heard him.

“Let’s hope that I’m not right,” the old witch says ominously, eyeing the book with thinly concealed worry. “Let’s hope that the older ones aren’t waking up.”

He wants to hope that, he really does. Yet his realism always kicks in, shooing away any thoughts of hope. The hope that there may not be any danger coming their way. “Yeah,” he mutters, sighing when he hears his sister calling after him. “Let’s hope.”

~

**(Unknown Destination, December 12)**

“I don’t know why I can’t go. Azzy gets to go, so why can’t I?”

“Your mother seems pretty set on you not going. I think it would be wise for you not to count your chickens before they hatch, Tori.”

She frowns, huffing as she crosses her small arms over her chest. She can’t even begin to understand why her Māma won’t let her go, even though her best friend gets to. It doesn’t help she was just scolded by him a moment ago for what he calls “eavesdropping”. Her Uncle Dipper is here, the two of them in one of the studies speaking in hushed tones. She couldn’t make out all the words, only that her Uncle is upset with her Uncle Bill and it has something to do with Azzy and magic.

She’s been banished to her room, the ultimate punishment that she could ever receive. She doesn’t like it when her mother’s mad at her, though she immensely thankful that it wasn’t her father. He’s more terrifying when he’s upset with her, though it’s not often. She stomped all the way there, ignoring the amused grin on Tad’s face as he followed her there. She doesn’t know what’s so funny; there’s nothing funny at all about being banished to one’s bedroom!

“You shouldn’t have been listening,” Tad admonishes gently, sitting on the window seat with one leg crossed over the other. “You know he doesn’t like it when you do that.”

She only huffs again and flops dramatically onto her bed, staring up at the blank ceiling. Everyone just seems so grumpy now; so moody. She noticed it at lunch, her mother glaring at her father while her father had some really weird smile on his face. Well, not exactly a smile. Smiles were supposed to be nice and pleasant. This one just seemed oddly pleased by something that wasn’t good. She often sees it when he’s speaking with Uncle Bill. She just can’t find the word to describe it…

“I bet it will be lots of fun,” she sighs, rolling onto her stomach to look at her other best friend. She forgot that laying on her long hair hurt after a while, considering no one helped her put it up today. Her parents over slept, sleeping in a lot longer than they usually do. She wanted to go wake them up, but Tad had stopped her. Saying something about “alone time,” whatever that meant. “They went last year and I had to stay behind. It’s not fair,” she bemoans to her friend. “If Azzy gets to go, he’ll be bored if I’m not there.”

Her parents and uncles go to the annual Changing of the Scepters event every year. They get to go out and have fun, meeting with their friends and other relatives she hasn’t met. She can only recall a handful of her relatives. Uncle Enoch, who never fails to make her laugh and Aunt Belinda, who’s so gracious and kind. Then of course there’s Uncle Bill, who scares her more than she’ll admit and Uncle Dipper who, when she gets to be around him, is very smart. She can see a lot of him in Azzy. 

“Maybe if you promise to be good, your father will let you go,” Tad offers with a strange little smile that makes her recall her father for the briefest of moments. “I know he would want you to be around your other relatives. Your mother, well, he’s just worried about you.”

“Why?”

“Mother’s do that,” Tad rolls his eyes. “They worry about their children sometimes more than they need to.”

She tilts her head at him in confusion, but he just sighs and shakes his head. “Never mind,” he smiles at her once more. “So, you never did tell me the name of the person who visited the Fearamid.”

Oh. She had almost forgotten that Tad disappeared the moment Azzy called her stupid. Which hurt a lot more than she thought it would, even though she took a lot of satisfaction when the slightly older boy got scolded. “Daddy said she’s my Great-Aunt, or something. Auntie Artanis, I think that’s what he said later on.”

“Oh. Interesting.”

“Do you know her?”

“Of course not,” he laughs and she can’t help but smile at him. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”

His golden eyes flicker with amusement, beautiful in the afternoon sunlight creeping in from the window. He has beautiful eyes, like her father, minus the differences of course. Her eyes are a dark gray, almost black sometimes, like her mother’s. She’s always been told they’re beautiful though she’s not sure why. Her father likes to tell her that, or he sometimes tells her she looks a lot like her mother. She can recall her mother overhearing that once and when he snorted, she swore she could have heard him say something along the lines of, “Are you really going to be redundant?”

She’s not sure what the word means, so she chooses not to think about it. 

It’s odd, she thinks. No one seems to know Tad exists. Her parents think he’s some sort of imaginary friend she’s made up, but she doesn’t think it’s true. He seems too real to be something made up. She doesn’t even recall creating him; he’s just always been there. Ever since she could remember, she’s always had Tad with her. He’s her best friend, with Azzy following closely behind. 

She didn’t even hear the door to her room open until she hears a voice, low and calm, utter her name. “Historia.”

She sits up immediately in her father’s presence, mindful to keep her manners. Her father hates rudeness, especially when it’s from her. He dubs it as a lack of manners, so she smiles at him cheerfully. “Hello Father.”

He smiles at her, taking a seat next to her on the bed. She easily crawls into his lap, head resting on his chest. It’s different from her mother’s, whose chest is warm and she can hear his heartbeat. Her father’s is cold, like ice and she can’t hear any sound coming from it. She doesn’t even know if he has a heart, like she and her mother do. She always means to ask him, but sometimes it just sounds so silly. Or maybe he’d be irritated by it; he seems to get irritated quite easily.

“You were eavesdropping on your mother again, weren’t you?”

She frowns, nodding sulkily in response, which he only sighs. There’s a cool hand on her head, gently stroking her hair in a comforting manner, so she knows she’s not in too much trouble. “Daddy?”

“Hm?”

“Why can’t I go with you and Māma to that party? Azzy gets to go, so why can’t I?” she looks towards Tad, who nods encouragingly at her, allowing her to gain more confidence. She looks directly up at her father, his pale eyes meeting her dark ones, waiting for her to say something. “Can I please, please go? I promise to be good! I won’t fight with Azzy; I promise I won’t!”

She’s expecting him to say “we’ll see,” but he doesn’t. Instead he just smiles that odd little smile of his and pats her head. “You can go,” he says and she almost lets out a shout of victory. Almost. She knows he wouldn’t exactly like it if she did that. He might even take back what he said. He holds her a bit more closely, the hand continuing to run comfortingly down her hair. “We’ll take you with us, Historia. You must be good, though.”

“I promise I will!” and she means it. The last thing she wants to do is upset her father. “I’ll be good.”

“That’s good to hear,” he stands up, with her still in his strong arms. He’s still smiling at her, his cool hand patting her cheek in a rare gesture of affection. “I’m pretty sure your mother’s done meeting with Dipper. Shall we tell him the good news?”

“Yes!”

~

She thinks it’s good news, though she’s not entirely sure now.

It’s dinner time and if there’s one thing she’s noticed, it’s very quiet. There’s a tension she can’t describe, but she watches her mother glare at her father and her father just gives him that weird little smile. They’re not saying anything to each other, and quite frankly, she hates it. Her mother is upset with her father about something. Something that probably has to do with her.

“You know what will break the tension?” Tad says to her, equally annoyed by the silence that looms over the table. He only grins at her when she gives him a curious look. “Remember that thing you overheard from Bill once? That phrase with the naughty words? You should ask your father.”

Oh. That. 

“Daddy?”

“Yes?”

She looks innocently to him, his full attention on her while her mother eyes them warily. She blinks once, tilting her head. “Uncle Bill said that you like to pound Māma’s ass. What does that mean? What’s an ass?”

Her mother immediately starts choking on the food he was eating, face immediately turning a bright shade of red. Her father paused mid drink, the goblet in his hand stilling as a dark look crosses over his face. There’s something much stronger than irritation on his face and she can’t help but wonder if Bill’s in trouble.

The dinner table isn’t quiet now. There’s talk of Bill being a bad influence and her father saying things like scattering his molecules out into space and having him spend months regaining a physical shape. She smiles at Tad, immediately grateful for him for breaking the silence.

He simply winks at her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe, Tori, the smile on your father's face is actually a smirk.
> 
> Bill, you better run.
> 
> More stuff is revealed (well, snippets of info anyway) but more will be coming. Comment if you would like to! I'll see you all in the future! Thanks for all the support guys!


	5. Just a dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and his mother talk late into the night. Two familiar faces also make an appearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry not much happens in this chapter! We're setting up for the first show down, so I hope you're ready. College is being a pain in the ass, but only a few more weeks till summer break! Wow, I can't believe it's coming up. I'm going to be a Junior soon (still can't believe that), but I hope you're all doing well and are safe.
> 
> I also know you've been wanting to see Dipper and Bill, so here you go. We will be seeing more of them, so don't worry if you feel this is too short. I make no promises on chapter lengths

_I was thinkin' bout you,_

_Thinkin' bout me,_

_Thinkin' bout us,_

_What we goin' be?_

_Open my eyes,_

_It was only just a dream_

_~Just a dream by Nelly Furtado~_

**(December 14, Gravity Falls)**

His dream is different this time.

He finds himself standing in the middle of a field, the wind blowing through his light colored hair. The sun’s out; it’s warm and it takes him a moment to realize that they haven’t had weather like this in years. Since the end of the world, in fact. The weather’s hardly ever nice, almost as if the ones ruling it currently wanted the rest of humanity to die out. He knows the population’s gone down drastically; that they’re literally surviving by a thread but he knows they won’t die out completely. If they did, the demons wouldn’t have anything to “play with”.

“What are you sulking about?”

A hand takes his, warm and slightly calloused. Just like his, he notices and turns his head to see Katia standing next to him. There’s a circlet of baby’s breath in her hair, curled for once and brushing gently against her face. She’s wearing a white cotton sundress and with noticing that, he realizes he’s completely in white too. Only without the weird flower crown in his hair. 

“Are we dead?” he asks, and it’s the first thing that pops into his mind. 

She smiles, only squeezing his hand much more tightly. “I don’t think so,” she shakes her head and by doing so, he can smell the flowers. It reminds him of home. Of happier days when he had his brother with him. She sighs comfortably. “We should get home, Greg.”

Home. Where is home? He still has no idea where they are, other than it doesn’t appear to be Gravity Falls. Yet maybe it is and he just doesn’t remember this place. She lets go of his hand, turning around to where the tall evergreen trees are standing. There’s something shining on her left hand, on her finger. When he looks down at his own hands, there’s a ring on his finger. A golden band that he’s seen before. 

“Come on, Greg!”

It’s not Katia’s voice that calls him this time. There’s a little girl in front of him, pulling at his right hand while he stands there with a stupid look on his face. A beautiful child, one that he swears he’s seen before, but can’t place where. Despite being very, very pale, she smiles at him with teeth as white as starlight. Her hair is dark, not quite black but not quite brown either and her eyes, he knows those eyes. 

“Come on!” she pulls away from him, out across the field and waves at him. “Come on Greg!”

He doesn’t know her, yet for some reason, he does. His feet move on their own accord, and he doesn't even question for a moment why he’s doing what she wants. He  _ knows  _ this girl. There’s a feeling of warmth, of kindness that he has towards this girl, but he can’t understand why. He’s never met her or seen her before in his life. Yet, he does. He can’t help but smile and feel a strong sense of love and protection for this child.

“Greg!” she’s getting a little impatient, hands on her hips and tilting her head at him. It reminds him of himself. The way he used to look at his brother. The thought suddenly hits him; the resemblance the child and his older brother share but he shakes it off. There’s no way, no possible way. 

However, stranger things have happened...

He takes one step forward and then it happens. The field is gone and the little girl vanishes. He calls out, reaching out to where her figure once stood but he’s falling instead. Back down the cold, dark void that he knows well. He can’t see those cruel gold eyes, but he can hear the ugly laughter.

_ “Fall down little hero….fall down….” _

“Greg!”

He’s suddenly awake, with his mother looming over him with concern. Her strong, firm hands on resting on his shoulders, dark eyes meeting his. “Greg,” she starts, cautious yet full of motherly warmth. “Did you have another dream?”

He blinks, heart slamming against his ribcage. “Kind of,” is the best he can offer her and he quickly wipes his now cold and sweaty forehead. She scoots back, opting to sit on the edge of the bed to give him space. He clears his throat, just to make sure he can still speak and for a moment, he wonders if he woke anyone else. “Did I wake you, Mom?”

“No,” she shakes her head, black hair gently sweeping across her shoulders. She’s distant, like there’s something weighing heavy on her mind. Something he can’t see at the moment until she makes it clear. It’s an expression he’d seen on Wirt a lot. A distant, cool look that he always wanted to understand, but never could. She sighs, closing her eyes momentarily. “I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted slowly. “One of those nights, you know?”

He does know, and just by looking at her closely, he can tell she’s been crying. Her eyes, now that they’re open again, are red rimmed and glassy. There are dried tear marks on her pale cheeks, evidence from when she didn’t bother to wipe them away. He adjusts himself around, sitting next to her on the edge and wrapping an arm around her. “Mom,” he starts, and he almost forgets this is the first they’ve directly spoken to each other in a few days. “Mom, what’s wrong?”

“What isn’t wrong?” she asks bitterly and then her face squelches up in pain once more. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be that cynical.”

“Well it’s true. Everything is wrong.”

“It’s Wirt,” she sighs again, and her eyes are filling up with unshed tears. “I was walking past his room, thinking I could do it this time, but I can’t. Then I heard you thrashing around in your bed like a madman and when I got in there, I woke you up.”

She hasn’t been in his brother’s room since that day. He can go in it for a few seconds without feeling hopeless but with her, it’s different. There’s too much pain; too much sadness that overwhelms her. She lost her mother in a tragic way, then her father and to lose her first born son...he didn’t know how she manages to keep going. “It’s okay, Mom,” he does his best to reassure her, even though he feels his words aren’t enough. “It’s okay, we’re going to get him back.”

“Are we?”

He pauses. “What do you mean?”

She’s biting her lip, something she only does when she’s truly agitated or upset. “It’s been nine years; almost ten since we’ve seen him. And Dipper as well. What if,” he doesn’t like where this is going, this he knows very well. “What if he doesn’t want to come back? What if he doesn’t remember us?”

“He’s going to want to come back! I refuse to believe that he wouldn’t!” he won’t say it outloud, but he’s often thought about what she just said. That Wirt, as much as they love him, would surrender to The Beast. To surrender to whatever weird thing was binding them together. Something he doesn’t understand; something their mother doesn’t understand either despite doing all the research she possibly could. He refuses to accept that Wirt would chose to stay with that deplorable demon. “We’re going to get him back. You have to believe that, Mom.”

“I know,” she offers a wan smile. “But it’s not going to be the same, Greg. Nothing is ever going to be the same.”

They can’t go back to the way things were. They can’t go back to those happy, simple days where they would go to school and come home. Have dinner together. Those days when Wirt was still kind of moody, but did his best to be a better brother. When his parents looked younger and happier. When Yin Wei was still a baby; sweet and very rarely fussy. He wants those days back. More than anything, but he knows they can’t. 

Just like a play, it ended. And no matter if they tried, they can’t go back to the way things were.

“We’ll still be a family,” he kisses her forehead, a rare display of affection that he hopes reminds her that he still loves her. That no matter what kind of tension is between them, he still holds her very dearly in his heart. “We’ll get him back; take care of him and whatever misery that follows.”

She leans forward a bit, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. She stares out the window, into the darkness. There’s no moon tonight. No light to shine upon the fallen snow. “The council’s made a decision,” she starts, abruptly changing the topic. “We found out where the demons are planning to gather. The exact location and on that day, we strike.”

“We are?”

“Yes,” she nods her head solemnly. “Everyone is going except for a few. Your father and sister are staying here.”

It’s a relief, he thinks as he nods his head. Yin Wei won’t be too excited. She’s been itching to try out her skills, he can see the look in her eyes when she’s training with him or their mother. She wants to go out into the real world, even though she’s much too young to understand the horrors that are out there. There’s also a part of him that wants to protect her from these horrors. The older brother protectiveness that always argues against his pragmatic side. The side that lectures that she’s going to find out eventually. That their enemy won’t care that she’s only a ten year old girl. They’ll kill her without a second thought.

“Anyone else staying?” he asks, particularly interested now. It’s easier to form teams this way, to see who will work well with who. 

“I tried to get Stan and Ford to stay, but they’re adamant about going to rescue their nephew,” there’s a soft smile growing on her face as she says that, shaking her head fondly. “Lorna and Auntie Whispers are staying as well. Matilda is staying too, saying something about getting stuff ready here for when we come back. When we need our wounded to have medical assistance.”

“So Annie’s staying, then?”

His mother snorts. “As if. You know wherever Valentina goes, she goes. I’m surprised they’re not married yet.”

There’s a long silence between them and he chooses that moment to stare down at his hands. His right hand still tingles with the feel of her hand entwined with his. Those hands, which he’s held many times before. When the world wasn’t against them, he held her hand on the playground and led her to the jungle gym. When the unmentionable day came and she was left alone, he held her hand while offering her a place to live. When they were done training, with one of them knocked to the ground, they’d help each other up. He can pinpoint where her callouses are, her thin fingers wrapping around his in a loving manner. Two kindred souls lost in a cruel world.

His mother takes his hand, observing the fingers carefully. It’s a nice feeling, reassuring and loving while she massages his knuckles. “You and Katia aren’t fighting, are you?” she asks quietly, as though the girl is going to hear them. “Or did you work things out?”

“We worked things out,” he responds calmly, not even having to think about his response. “We both admitted our faults and we’ve moved on. Simple as that.”

“That’s good,” he swears he can see relief in her eyes. “I really don’t like it when you two fight.”

“Well I don’t either,” he gives a small laugh, smiling as her eyes light up a bit more, easing the slowly fading tension away. “Actually, Mom, there’s something I want to ask you.”

She immediately stops her laugh, a genuine look of curiosity on her aging face. He can see the wrinkles forming around her eyes much more clearly now. She’s still beautiful of course; his mother’s always going to be beautiful in his eyes, but it’s clear how much things have changed. “Mom,” he’s not sure how to ask this, or even if he should be asking this. But, he’s never been one to beat around the bush, so… “Do you still have your parents’ wedding rings?”

For a moment, he wonders if he shouldn’t of asked. Her dark eyes widen with surprise, clearly not expecting him to ask this sort of question. “Y...yes,” he doesn’t catch her off guard often, but she’s completely surprised. “What do you need them...are you planning to propose?”

A long time ago, if things hadn’t changed, she would immediately frown upon this decision. But that was then, and the world’s a lot different from what it was nine years ago. He may be eighteen, a little young in the grand scheme of things, but he’s no child. He hasn’t been a fool hardy child for a very, very, long time. “Yeah,” he nods his head, doing his best to look completely sure of himself. “I know it’s a little strange, but…”

“But?”

“We’ve never confronted them head on like this. We’re going right to the source full of demons, witches, fairies, and god knows what else. We could die, you know,” he feels somewhat bad for saying that, but his mother just nods. She’s no stranger to situations like these. It’s not heartening at all, but he wants her to know that he’s aware of this. “I know I don’t show it often but...I want Katia to know that I do care about her. I think if we married before going, there won’t be anything left unsaid. It’s weird, I know, you don’t need to tell me. No one needs to tell me. You don’t have to give me the rings, I can find something else- Mom?”

He didn’t even realize she had gotten up, heading out the door without a word. If she’s upset at him for asking that, he wishes she would at least say something. To let him know that he asked something of her that she isn’t okay with. Great. Just when he thought that she finally got over him not telling her his dreams, she’s mad at him once more. Great. Fantastic. 

“Here.”

He almost jumps when she returns, flipping the light switch on and sitting back down on his bed in single fluid motion. There are two gold bands in her left palm, one with a dragon engraving on it and the other with a phoenix. “This one,” she holds up the one with the dragon. “Belonged to my father. The other, my mother. You can have them.”

“Really? Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she nods her head, a smile on her face as she leans forward to kiss his forehead. “You can have them. I’m sure she’ll say yes.”

“Really?”

“Of course she will,” she scolds him half heartedly, shaking her head with a tiny smirk. “Anyone can see how she feels about you. I notice how you look at her when you think no one’s watching.”

“Mom!”

“I’ve been in love at your age too, Greg,” she laughs, as though he’s just done the most hilarious thing she’s ever seen. She ruffles his hair affectionately, resting it on his shoulder. “I’ve loved your father since the day I met him. He’s my soulmate. Took me a while to realize that, but I can’t imagine life without him.”

“What about Mort?” he asks and the very name leaves a sour flavor in his mouth. “What about him?”

“I loved him at one point,” she responds carefully, gaze never breaking his. “I was young, and I thought he was the one. I don’t regret it; life’s too short for regret. And besides, if I never met Mort, Wirt wouldn’t have been born.”

Damn, he sometimes forgets that. He never got the chance to discuss Mort with Wirt; the subject was sort of taboo for the longest time. He didn’t even see Mort that often; the man avoided this house like the plague. “He’s not coming, is he?”

“Oh goodness no,” she shakes her head, face tightening at the thought. “He said he’d stay behind to help where needed. This really isn't the life he envisioned for himself, that’s for sure.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

“Greg.”

He shrugs his shoulders sheepishly. “Sorry,” he can see the barest hint of a smile behind that disapproving look. “I’m sure he was a great guy. Once.”

She cuffs the back of his head gently, rolling her eyes. “He was a different person once,” she’s lost again, thinking of a different time long ago. “Loving, a real charmer, very sure of himself. But he never wanted kids. That’s where we were different. I wanted a family, he wanted to always work. In the end, we just couldn’t make it work.”

He blinks once, a question popping into his mind. “He never hit Wirt, did he?”

“No!” she immediately answers that, completely taken aback by his question. “No, Greg, he never hit us. I feared he would, once, when he grabbed Wirt by his wrist once. After that, I wasn’t going to take any chances. The writing on the wall had been written for a long time. I don’t regret leaving my marriage with him.”

He didn’t need the whole speech she pretty much just gave, but he nods his head in understanding. He takes her hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I’m glad he didn’t do that,” he sighs, trying to stifle his yawn. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the dream. I just, well, didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“It’s alright, I’m just glad you’re okay,” she stands up, her hand reaching up to press against his cheek. She gives him a small pinch, which he immediately scowls at. She grins. “That was for keeping secrets from your own mother.”

He watches as she walks back towards the door, pausing only when she’s halfway out. “Goodnight, Greg,” she smiles softly at him before slipping out the door.

“Night, Mom,” he calls back, eyes returning back to the rings now pressed in his hand. Some might find it stupid, or weird, he thinks. He’s barely eighteen; she’s nearing the same age but they’ve known each other for so long. They’re still a bit sore from their argument not too long ago, but he trusts her. She knows she can trust him. He can’t imagine her not being in his life.

“Damnit,” he flops back down on his bed. “This better work.”

~

**(December 13, Unknown Location, Fearamid)**

“He’s going to kill you, Bill.”

“No, he loves me too much. Besides, all he did was threaten to spread my molecules across the universe. I’d just come back eventually. He can’t live without me.”

“I highly doubt that.”

With a sigh, Dipper pinches the bridge of his nose in not so subtly concealed irritation. He glances out of one of the triangular windows, out to the barren landscape. He has no idea where they, though he thinks they might be somewhere in Nevada or Utah. They’re heading up towards Oregon, where the Changing of the Scepters will take place. Not that he wants to go, of course. He never wants to go to these sorts of things.

Fairies, he frowns distastefully at the word. He’s never liked them. Not one bit. 

“I’m going to train Azzy in magic.”

Ah. Then there’s that. Their most current and frequent conversation. He closes his book with a loud slam, hopeful it sends a message that lets the demon know that he’s not okay with this. Not okay with this at all. “No, you’re not,” he watches a flash of blue crosses over Bill’s eyes and while there’s a voice screaming at him to not do this, he ignores it. “I won’t let you do whatever you’re planning. He doesn’t even have any abilities.”

“Yet. He doesn’t have them yet,” Bill waves a hand dismissively. “You keep forgetting that, Pine Tree.”

“I’m not forgetting anything,” he snaps, standing up from the couch where he’d been currently lounging. “You don’t get to make all the decisions. He’s  _ my  _ son too.”

It had been a nice afternoon too. Well, as nice as an afternoon here could get. For a rare moment, he hadn’t seen Bill since yesterday when The Beast came storming into the Fearamid. He never likes it when that demon’s around, especially when Wirt’s not there with him. Anger was written all over his face, and he was more than happy to have the other demon pull his “husband” away for a  _ long  _ chat. Something about Bill saying something inappropriate while Historia had been in earshot. Did it surprise him? No, no it did not.

The grin Bill has on his face is anything but friendly. He knows the demon well enough by now to know which smile means what. The one on his face right now tells him he’s annoyed. Good. He’s irritated too by this conversation. “I think you need a little reminder, Pine Tree,” he backs up as the demon saunters forward casually. He makes no mistake in underestimating the demon; he knows what he’s capable of. He’s experienced it more times than he can count. “I think you need to remember that  _ I run this place.  _ I make the rules here.”

He’s backed up to the arm of the red leather couch, the back of it digging painfully into his lower back. Bill’s very close to his face now, his cold breath hitting his face. It’s all to intimidate him; Bill doesn’t actually  _ need  _ to breathe. A long time ago, this would have terrified him but now? They may be bonded, but that means nothing to him. He knows Bill’s not ever going to hurt him too seriously and if he does, he’ll make sure to fix that. Last thing either of them want is for Azzy to see them like this. Their battle of wills that both amuses and infuriates Bill to no end.

He’s no masochist like Wirt. He doesn’t go crawling back to Bill in the end. This is not to jab at his friend; he understands full well what’s going on in that place. It’s almost the same for him and Bill except, not quite. It wasn’t like he was predetermined. He just happened to be the unfortunate person Bill’s mark found.

Really, it’s unfortunate. Yet, he can’t help but wonder if it had been someone else. Would he be able to accept that? If it had been Mable of all people...Oh god, there’s someone he hasn’t seen in years.

“Pine Tree…” Bill practically sings, tapping him on the face. “You’re ignoring me.”

“Gee, what a shame.”

“He’s going to learn magic.”

“No, he’s not. He doesn’t have any magic abilities.”

He can see Bill’s starting to get even more annoyed and he has to roll his eyes at this. He’s half anticipating the demon to lightly smack him or even turn him into a sock puppet, yet nothing ever comes. Out the corner of his eye, he can see Azzy standing in the archway looking nervous. As if he’s thinking that he shouldn’t enter out of fear for his safety. The kid’s percpetive, a lot more perceptive than either of them realize. 

“Should I leave?” those big blue eyes meet his and he smiles at him.

“No, Azzy, you can come on in,” he lightly pushes Bill away from him, taking a step forward as the small boy rushes to him. “Did you finish your book?”

He watches as those electrifying eyes light up. “Yeah, and it was really good. Do you have anymore?” he doesn’t remember exactly which book he’s lent him, but that doesn’t matter. The fact that his son shares his same interest in reading is enough for him. Azzy glances over to Bill, and he notices that small look of fear. He almost jumps when the child pulls on his sleeve. “Mama, is it true that Tori’s going to the party?” it takes everything he has to hide his smile from the child. Especially since he looks so disgusted at the prospect.

“Yes, Tori’s going,” Bill answers for him. “Upset that your girlfriend’s going to be there, kiddo?”

The glare the child sends his father makes him laugh. “She’s not my girlfriend,” the boy scowls, crossing his arms. “She’s annoying and too bossy. Isn’t she my cousin, anyway?”

“Kind of,” Bill laughs and scoops the kid up into his arms, much to the child’s discomfort. “But not really. Hey Azzy?”

“What?”

“Do you wanna learn some magic?”

And just like that, he wishes that Tori’s father truly had tossed Bill out into space and turned him into nothing but molecules. Then, they truly would have peace for a while. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment please!


	6. Seven Devils

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new enemy arises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the support guys! Don't know when I'll update again; it might not be until school lets out for the summer, but here's a new chapter for you guys. I know it's short, but we're only a few chapters away from the first big moment. Where Wirt and Greg see each other again. All these chapters have been leading up to the moment!
> 
> I hope you all have a happy Easter. I don't celebrate it, but to those who do, I hope you are safe and well. To everyone in general, have a happy Sunday!

_Holy water,_

_Cannot help you now,_

_A thousand armies,_

_Couldn't keep me out,_

_I don't want your money,_

_I don't want your crown,_

_See I've come to burn,_

_Your kingdom down_

_~Seven Devils by Florence and the Machine~_

**(December 14, Unknown destination)**

It’s been eons since she had been in this place.

Her feet tread silently across the grass, her body a mere silhouette in the dense mist. There weren’t any creatures around as far as she could tell and even if there were, they are of no concern to her. There’s nothing but unfathomable silence stretching for miles and miles on end. A silence that made her bare her teeth in disgust; an unpleasant reminder of the shadow realm where she’d been stored away for millennia. If her _dear nephew_ thought being locked in the nightmare realm for only a few hundred years was bad, he had no idea how it was in the void.

Her dark red cloak is the only thing of color through the thickening mist and she smiled at the knowledge that she was getting closer to her destination. Her first task was almost complete. She’s not sure why she was the first of her siblings to be released, but she couldn’t bring herself to doubt it. Who better to start the battle for the world than the goddess of war.

Well, she was not a goddess per se. She’s been given many titles among the humans. The Greeks called her Ares (not sure how they mistook her for one of her brothers, but that’s a story for another time). The Romans called her Bellona. Menhit to the Egyptians. Chamunda to the Indians. Inanna to the Sumerians. Jiutian Xuannu to the Chinese. Many names, many titles from the creatures she never had much interest in other than for sport.

A fond smile spread across her face at the memories. The humanii feared her alright. The early members of the race of the humani knew full well to be wary of her; to dread her when she decided to grace them with her presence. She slaughtered entire villages with her whip; her unbreakable sword. Even other less creatures; her nieces and nephews, made well to stay out of her way.

She wasn’t called Artanis the Imperious after all.

She sighed, reminiscent of times so long ago. An ugly scowl soon replaced the fond smile and a rage she had long grown familiar with over the course of her lifetime. Zephaniah, her dear elder sister; the oldest of the triplets that shared one consciousness. It was one thing for her to kill two of their own, but it was another to lock her own husband- their brother- away without telling anyone why. The final straw being locking the rest of them away one by one before allowing her own children to lock her away into a cursed slumber.

Still, Zephaniah remained her sister, no matter the grievances between them. Her death would be avenged in time. She felt it, felt the moment her sister’s presence abandoned this world. She had screamed into the void until she could no more; a loss she hadn’t felt since the death of her sisters, Ainsleia and Splendora. Even if it took the death of all her sister’s children, she would have vengeance. All of them would.

Her mouth curled once more in cruel irony. Even if her sister and brother’s cursed spawn were annoying and even more so now that they were in power, the image of those children would not leave her mind. The boy with the bright electrifying blue eyes and the beautiful dark eyed girl with an ancient lineage. Her great-niece and nephew, who played a much bigger role in this world than they realized.

She glanced upwards towards the sky as a raven cawed above, another sign that she was nearing the spot. The first of her siblings that she would awaken; the last sister she had now. Her fourth oldest sister, Elluka. Originally she had been wanting to release her husband, but strategically, it would be wise to release her now only sister. The sister who had domaine over the night; the darkness and the magic that dwelled from it. Zephaniah being the most powerful out of all her sisters, but alas, she was no more.

Although she had to remember her sister’s apprentice. Even though “She Who Watches” hadn’t shown her face to her yet, she was still around. What her sister saw in that girl, however, was beyond her knowledge.

She ceased in her steps, staring up at a tall ancient rock with a triumphant smirk. Ancient runes carved into the stone, long forgotten by the humani and others. If she closed her eyes and listened carefully, she could feel her sister claw at the doors of her imprisonment, sorrowfully begging to be set free. Perched above the rock, glaring down at her with slitted glowing red eyes, were the Children of the Night. Again, while she never cared for her siblings’ spawns, the Children of the Night were the least irritating. They knew their place, never placing themselves as above their makers like those asinine demons.

The seven of them, upon realizing who she was, immediately lept down. Heads bowed, eyes staring respectfully towards the ground. “Lady Artanis,” they spoke as one. One single unit for a single purpose in their lives. To spread their curse among the humani; to drain them in order to stay alive. Vampires are what the humani called them, if she remembered correctly.

“Rise,” she commanded them without a blink of the eye. They rose swiftly, their gaze now glued to her body without a single emotion. She had to smile at that. “Children of the Night, Daughters of Elluka, my dear nieces, I have come to free your mother.”

They glance at each other, whispering softly in the language of old. Their piercing red eyes met hers and one took a step forward. The eldest; the leader of the seven. Dressed entirely in black with her night sky colored hair braided behind her back. Her lips painted blood red in contrast to her stark pale skin. “Our beloved aunt,” she started, kneeling to the ground once more. “We have dutifully guarded our mother’s prison, waiting for eons for her to be released. And now you have come to grant our dearest wish. We are obligated to serve you in order to show our gratitude.”

“Your gratitude is most welcome, Sian,” she motioned for the girl to stand once more, to step back to where her sisters lay concealed in the shadows. “It is my honor to release my sister, your mother, from that retched place. Now, stand aside.”

They immediately stepped away from the stone, soundlessly moving towards an area where they would not be obliterated by the light. She took a knife from her pouch, sliding it across her palm without a single word or indication of pain. The runes were weakened due to time, though not nearly as weakened as hers. She knew how to undo them; the voice that contacted her through the void made sure she would know how. It appeared Zephaniah wasn’t as clever as she thought she’d been.

She pressed her palm against the rock, muttering the language of old that was long forgotten, even by their supposed descendants. The blood smeared across the ancient rock, gold and shimmering like the eyes of her oldest brother; like her own. The blood of the leviathans, the only thing that could probably release her last sister from her prison. As she spoke, a low mutter inaudible to the ears of the humani, the rock trembled violently. Cracks spread out across the center, allowing snippets of light to break through. She barely registered the hisses coming from her nieces as a few wayward strands of light managed to hit them. Yet they kept crawling forward, blood colored eyes hopeful for the first glimpse of their mother in millennia.

The barrier separating all of them breaks with a thundering sound that rippled across the land, more than likely alerting the others that another ancient being had reentered the torn and frayed world.

She hadn’t changed much, she supposed, taking in the sight of her sister once the blinding light went out. She stepped out of her prison shrouded in dark robes. Tall, with pointed features and poised grace, she remained as beautiful as she had always been. Her dark eyes, the same color as Zephaniah’s, glittered softly like a star in the night sky. Underneath the midnight blue hood attached to her cloak, her black hair flickered with stars from the night sky.

“Sister,” the dark clothed woman hurried towards her, arms opened wide. “Sister, it is you at last!”

“Elluka,” she hugged her back tightly, the feel of her sister as cold as the stars she gazed upon in the night sky. Cold, yet she could feel the warmth and love the other female leviathan had for her. She released her, allowing a genuine smile to cross her own pointed features. “It is I, your little Artanis. It’s been too long since I have looked upon you, sister.”

A look of sorrow crosses over her sister’s face, her eyes drifting softly towards the ground. “Zephaniah,” she murmured quietly, taking her worn hands into her soft ones. “Those wretched children of Mairon, they killed her! They killed their own mother!”

“Yes, I know.”

“Do they think that we will not take it personally?” She smirked as her sister releases her hands, stepping forward. With a wave of her hand, the fog dissipates, leaving them under the darkness of the night sky. The light of the stars the only source of illumination. Elluka is furious, pacing anxiously as her daughters crouch forward, looks of disbelief replacing their normal blank ones. “Now they think they can have control over this world! The world that we created! We did! They killed their own mother, what makes us certain they won’t come after us?”

“Calm yourself, sister!” she snapped, and while she took no pleasure in doing so, she couldn’t stand seeing her sister pace anymore. “We will not let those deplorable nieces and nephews of ours usurp our right to this world! Remember, sister, they are afraid of us.”

“Has Mairon foreseen anything?”

“You have forgotten, sister, that our brother cannot look into the future. He may possess power over the flow of time, but he has limited ability of foresight. Unlike Zephaniah, he cannot always see the future.”

“Does he know a way out of his prison?”

“Perhaps,” she grunted, looking towards her sister once more with a thoughtful look. “He seems to know how to get himself out, yet he cannot do it himself, you see. Zephaniah made certain of that. One of us cannot release him, which is rather inconvenient if you ask me.”

Elluka frowned, now completely surrounded by her daughters, who wept tears of joy at the sight of her. “Then who can?”

“He told me before I was released that he’s set his eye on someone already. A certain person to release him from his prison.”

Elluka just frowned even harder. “Do not speak in riddles, sister. Does he have a name of this creature? Is it humani? Demon? A faerie even?”

She just smiled. “It’s a humani child, actually.”

There’s a pregnant pause that seemed to stretch on forever until one of her sister’s daughters pulled on her mother’s sleeve. “Mother,” she spoke tentatively, with respect and her eyes downcast once more. “We are here at your bidding. If you wish us to, we will search for the child.”

“There’s no need,” she interjected before her sister could reply to that statement, meeting her niece’s bloody eyes. She averted her eyes back to her sister’s sharpening gaze, the grin on her face savage enough to make even the seven original vampires wary. “I know who the child is. This child is the key to bringing the demon reign down.”

“And you’re certain you know it’s this child?”

“Well, it’s one of them,” she stated dismissively, not an ounce of concern even emanating from her. “I have an idea who it is, but the future is not set in stone,” She turned to face the daughters of Elluka, face stern and eyes daring them to challenge her authority. “You will protect the child, do you hear? Guard over them; both of them. From a distance. Do not let yourselves be known. You work in the shadows, so this should be no problem for you.”

The eldest vampire glanced over at her sisters, only dropping to her knees when her mother nodded towards her. “We understand,” Sian spoke, not a single objection coming from her. “We will not fail you, my lady.”

“Failure is not an option,” she continued, Elluka coming to stand beside her, nodding her head in agreement. “Your work in the past has proven that you are capable of success.”

Elluka interjected, gazing at each daughter with a mixture of pride and stern motherliness. “As your aunt just said, you will not engage unless threatened. Report on what they’re doing and if the child is in danger, protect them at all cost. Do you understand?”

Once more, they spoke in unison. “Yes, Mother.”

“Go!”

In a flurry of smoke, she registered the sound of a bat’s wings flapping into the night. Looking up to the sky to see seven black bats flying west. She grinned, the same grin she wore in the days of old. When she slaughtered both humani and other creatures like pigs. In her hands, there was a tingling feeling that itched for bloodshed; that craved for her weapons.

Soon, she promised herself. There would be blood soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, we have vampires now. I was watching Samurai Jack and I drew inspiration from the Daughter's of Aku.
> 
> Artanis is a mixture of different inspirations. I drew a lot of her from a book character called the Dark Sorceress from the Avalon web of magic series. I read them as a kid and her character design was the first thing to pop into my head. Elluka's design was inspired by images of a Lord of the Rings character named Varda. Look up pictures of her; she's very pretty.


	7. Never Forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg asks an important question. A wedding is planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise update! I promise that we'll be seeing other characters in the next chapter. Mabel for sure and in about three chapters, the first major part of the story will commence. Sorry if this is taking forever, but I'm busy and summer is just around the corner. Greg and Wirt will meet again soon and rest assured, more drama will come

_Never forget what I did, What I said,_

_When I gave you all my heart and soul,_

_Morning will come and I know we'll be one,_

_Cause I still believe that you'll remember me_

_~Never Forget-Greta Salome and Jonsi_

**(December 15, Gravity Falls, Oregon)**

It was almost hard to believe how much she’d changed over the past nine years.

If he closed his eyes for a moment, he could see it all over again. A pale figure in the cold February snow, hair disgruntled with spats of dried blood. There was a coldness in her eyes, no, not a coldness. A distance that he could not catch up to, no matter how hard he tried. A memory like a movie playing over and over again in her mind as she stood out in the snow freezing. Even when he pulled her inside, wrapping a blanket around her shaking form, she still felt cold. 

She wasn’t so different now. Older, with more defined features and a bit taller, she hadn’t really changed. In his mind, she’s a distant star. Not in the sense that she fitted in with all the other stars in the night sky, but rather she illuminated the darkness in his soul. Those eyes, those blue eyes that felt cold at times, could also bring shining light.

Long ago, he used to wish upon stars, asking them to bring his wish to life. He could remember lying on the ground of The Unknown, while Wirt drifted off to sleep and he asked for the light to find their way home. He didn’t wish on stars, not anymore. Wishes didn’t solve problems. Wishes did not lessen the sting when reality set in. Those wishes he had wished for even after the end of the world didn’t fix the deep ache in his soul.

She did, though. She never noticed him observing her over the years that slowly passed on. As they grew up and feelings changed, he watched her grow. From that numbingly frozen child to a remote, distant but very bright young woman. 

At the same time, however, she wasn’t always cold. When she felt strongly about something; someone, that light would shine bright. Her light would reach out across the distance and for a moment, he could feel her love. Precious and pure, the memoirs of happier times that long ago had passed. He clung to it in desperation. He needed her, for the reminder that he wasn’t alone. That she was there, even if in the background, that he could go back to. To find solace and comfort in. 

In return, he was her reminder of strength and hope. That as long as they were both together, she would always belong somewhere. That the painful day she fled from would not overwhelm her. That she could walk, run, as far as she wanted; even until she collapsed and he would be there. He would be there to pick her up when she could not go any further. In vice versa, she would do the same for him.

It was a shame really, they weren’t good at being overly romantic. Small gestures were appreciated, the tiny gifts every now and then, but other than that, they weren’t good at expressing gestures of warmth. It used to be so easy a long time ago. He was everyone’s rock. He used to love watching romantic comedies with his mother and while most kids found it gross to see their parents kiss, he found it oddly reassuring. That he wasn’t going to end up in a situation like Wirt, who probably felt like a foreigner at times when he saw them.

Not that they were terrible at expressing themselves. There were sweet moments, though they were few and fewer between now. He first kissed her when they were sitting on the roof of the mystery shack. For once, the world around them was still; almost peaceful. He didn’t know why he did it, only that he thought she looked especially pretty that night and that her pink lips looked incredibly soft. She hadn’t been expecting it and nearly punched him in the face when he pulled back. 

Only because he caught her off guard, though. She fled the scene and the whole next day he thought she was going to kill him. When she came towards him later on, the part of him that had Awakened long ago prepared for the impact. But all that happened was the press of her lips against his and a muffled “I’m sorry.”

Mabel had walked in then and for the first time in a long time, he saw that bright smile that made everyone around her feel better about themselves. Then, she yelled something out loud. “YOU OWE ME FIFTY BUCKS, GRUNKLE STAN!”

The following, “Damnit!” could be heard from the upstairs of the Mystery Shack followed by Ford’s amused chuckle. 

That, had been over a year ago.

“What are you looking at, Greg?”

Oh, he almost forgot why he was here. The ring that belonged to his grandmother practically burned in the pocket of his jeans, as if warning him not to screw up. He currently found himself standing in their backyard, the weather not too cold (something they had to thank the demons for, he supposed). A punching bag had been dragged out, hanging from the limb of a tree where she was punching it rather mercilessly. 

He instantly frowned, now wondering if this was the right time.

“Did another lightbulb break?”

She paused in her punching momentarily, casting him a withering glare. “Haha very funny,” she left hooked the bag and he watched it swing as she brought her right leg in. When she noticed him still watching her, she sighed. “Fine. All the lightbulbs in the kitchen broke. I was helping your mom with dishes when Yin Wei walked in.”

Oh. Ah. He knew what she was talking about. His sister had a talent of walking into a room so quietly that she would often go unnoticed. Katia’s nerves were already rattled, so he could imagine the scene perfectly well. His mother probably really enjoyed having to sweep the glass up and get new lightbulbs. Not that she would ever say that to Katia; she knew that she couldn’t help it.

“Well, as no one got hurt,” he offered in the best reassuring manner he could. Being positive used to be so easy, now, he’s not so sure. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she nodded her head, finally stepping away from the punching bag. Wearing old sweat pants and a t-shirt he believed belonged to either Annie or Wendy at one point, she looked absolutely worn out. Covered in sweat, with her pale brown hair sticking to her face, seeing as the bangs got loose from her ponytail. She must have been working out quite a lot of frustration. 

She wiped her hands together with a rag sitting on the nearest table, glancing at him from over her shoulder. “What?” she asked, and he watched with subtle amusement as the glance turns into a suspicious glare. “Do I have something on my face?”

“Aside from sweat, no,” he couldn’t hide the smile from growing as she rolled her eyes. “Really, I just wanted to talk.”

They hadn’t done that in a while. It used to be so easy to just sit and talk somewhere. Then the dreams started and he found himself pulling away from everyone in an attempt to make sense of it all. She only raised an eyebrow at this, crossing her arms over her chest. “Alright,” she nodded her head. “Talk.”

It didn’t help that things were still kind of awkward between them. He wasn’t mad at her anymore for telling everyone about his dreams, but he could tell she’s still wary. He hoped his proposal could show that there was no need for that. “Come on, Katia, you know I’m not upset anymore,” he sighed, running a hand through his somewhat messy hair. “If this is about what happened earlier, I’m not-”

“It’s not that,” she grumbled, cutting him off abruptly. She didn’t do it very often, but when she did... well, it usually meant something was weighing heavily in her mind. She gave out a little sigh, continuing on as he took a seat next to her. “I’m tired. I’m tired of having random out bursts. I’m tired of you and your family having to find new lightbulbs because it’s not fair to them, and I’m tired of all...this.”

To prove her point, she waved her hand in the air as if to encompass their whole surrounding. If he were an idiot, he might not have not what she was indicating, but he did. “I think we’re all tired of ‘all this’,” he nodded his head in agreement, eyeing her from the corner of his eye. “But it’s not going to change anytime soon.”

“Unless we defeat those stupid supernaturals.”

“That’s a big  _ if _ ,” he reminded her carefully, doing his best to not sound too bitter. If he ruined this, then that was it. They didn’t have a lot of time before the winter equinox and he’d be damned if he proposes to her the night before. She probably wouldn’t appreciate that and his mother most certainly wouldn’t either. “But there’s still a chance.”

“I guess.”

For a long moment, they’re quiet, with nothing but the cool winter wind blowing in from the north. He noticed the pink flush on her face, the way she wrung her hands together in a nervous fashion. Not that she had a real need to be nervous, but he understood. She did that when she wanted something, or when she had something she wanted to say but wasn’t sure if she should. 

Her hands broke apart suddenly, finding their way to the silver chain around her neck. He knew what it was, something that she held very dear to her. Clenched tightly between two fingers was a small gold and silver star. The exact origin of her necklace had never really been revealed due to the subject being a sore one. It was an unspoken rule between them. He never prodded her too much on her parents and she never prodded him too much on the meaning of the tattoo that was forever embedded into his skin.

“Your mom,” he nodded towards the necklace, catching her attention. She stopped fiddling with the object, eyes immediately snapping to stare at his. He only smiled softly. “I saw it on her once; I don’t think I ever told you that.”

“You actually remember her? I think you only ever saw her once, she-”

Alive, anyway. He’d only seen her alive once. When he first met Katia on the playground all those years ago, she told him that her mother was often sick. That her immune system was compromised or something along those lines. It was a major reason why he didn’t see her that often; she rarely ever left the house. 

“I saw her once, when she came to pick you up from my birthday party,” he reminded her, earning a soft “oh,” from her. He took her hand into hers, cold and raw from the cold and from punching the bag tied to the tree. She tucked the necklace back under the sweat stained t-shirt, lips pursed like she wanted to hide something, but also wanted to let it slip. “It’s fine,” he reassured her, squeezing her hand for extra measure. “I understand you got it from your parents; they gave it to you for a reason. You don’t have to tell me.”

She shook her head. “It’s not that, I,” she glanced around, as though there were someone else around to hear them. Though, they were the only ones outside at the moment. She cleared her throat, the other hand not held in his curling tightly. “My mom...she told me never to let it go. Right before she…”

“You don’t have to say it.”

“Thanks,” she sighed, breathing a sigh of relief. She reached across, adjusting herself in her seat to take his right hand. Turning it over, her cold fingers pushed his sleeve back to reveal the tattoo that stood starkly against his skin. “It’s kind of like your tattoo,” she murmured as her fingers traced the character. “It’s a reminder of your family lineage; one that you’ll pass down when you have kids. My mom, she said that if I have a daughter and this necklace is still around, I’ll give it to her.”

He glanced over at her collar bone. “It’s pretty,” he admitted, though not as if he had an eye for that sort of stuff. “She was a faery, right? It came from her world to this one.”

“Yeah,” she blanched at the thought, the reminder that like himself, she wasn’t normal either. “She was. Don’t know how she became mortal, or what even convinced her to leave her world behind to live with my dad.”

Well, that was an obvious answer. “She must have really loved him to leave everything she knew behind,” he answered, pausing a moment as a smile crossed her face. A reminder there could still be beautiful things in this dark and cold world. “To abandon everything like that, she must have truly loved him. It must have been difficult, leaving and then making such a huge transition. Difficult, and probably really lonely. But, she had someone to go to. A place she could always return to when things got too hard. I...I think that’s really nice.”

He hadn’t even realized she was staring at him, a twinkle dancing in her eyes as his face uncharacteristically reddened. She just lay her head on his shoulder, and despite her being tired and sweaty, he didn’t mind. It felt right, in a way he only recently understood. “I think it’s nice too,” she agreed, sighing contently as if she were truly at peace. “So what’s on your mind? I don’t think you just came out here to talk about my parents.”

“Oh, yeah,” damnit, why was he making this so difficult? All he had to do was give her the ring and ask her to marry him. Plain and simple, except now he was wondering if she would even say yes. Things were still kind of awkward, but she had to say yes, didn’t she? He adjusted himself on the bench, the feeling of the rings in his pocket like an ominous presence. “There’s something I want to ask you.”

“What?”

Well, no going back now. “Katia,” his heart was beating so fast he thought it was going to leap out of his chest. She stared at him inquisitively, eyebrows furrowing slightly in confusion. “We’ve only been together for a year but we’ve known each other since we were kids. You know, before all this.”

“I know,” she answered, nodding her head seriously. “We met in class 2B. Our teacher was Mrs. Mcintire.”

“Is that where we met? I must have forgotten.”

“Greg!”

“Just kidding,” he grinned as she rolled her eyes, a smile pulling at the corner of her lips. He continued on, the obvious tension seeming to ease up. Not completely, for like Annie, she was guarded in the aspect of not knowing how a situation was going to turn out. He released her right hand, reaching over to take her left. “You know we’re storming that fortress in a few days; the one they’re gathering together under one roof for once. I...I can’t guarantee that we’re all going to make it back.”

“Cheerful,” she raised an eyebrow. “Thanks for the reminder, but,” she pursed her lips tightly together in a thin line. “You are right. There’s no guarantee that we’ll all make it back.”

He swallowed tightly. “I just wanted to ask, well, before things get crazy,” why did this have to be so difficult? One question; just one question! He cleared his throat once more, wondering if it would be tacky to get down on one knee. “Katia, will you marry me?”

For a long moment, she stared at him as if he’d grown a second head, or was speaking in Chinese to her (which he had done before. She didn’t appreciate it). “You don’t have to say yes,” he quickly added, not even sure why. “I mean, I’ll be right by your side when we fight those demons and all. We’re a team, remember? You and me, till-”

“Yes,” she interrupted him, placing a hand over his mouth to shut him up. There was something in her eyes, a sparkle or perhaps tears. She then removed her hand, taking both of his hands into hers, the feel of her hands cold compared to his. She gave him a watery smile. “I’ll marry you. I don’t even have a wedding dress, but who cares? I’ll marry you.”

For a moment, the thought of her walking down the aisle in pajamas crossed his mind and almost made him laugh, except he held himself in check. He pulled his grandmother’s ring out, the one with the phoenix engraved on it, and slid it on her finger. “I don’t have an actual engagement ring, but I think this’ll be okay.”

“It’s perfect, Greg.”

He leaned in, kissing her gently. Her lips were soft against his, with the barest hint of chapstick and mint toothpaste. He kind of liked that about her, how soft she felt. Soft, but incredibly strong. Strong enough to stand by him, through thick and thin. No longer that shy little girl she had been when he first met her. He pulled her into his arms, deepening the kiss which she eagerly responded to. Threading her hands behind his hair to be even closer. 

“Well finally.”

They immediately pulled apart, eyes darting to where Valentina and Robbie were standing near the punching bag. Robbie looking disinterested as usual and his cousin just stared at them with a growing smirk. “Fucking finally,” she nudged Robbie, who glared at her with irritation. “You owe me twenty bucks.”

“I owe you nothing!”

Well, this was awkward. Not as awkward as the time he walked in on Valentina and Annie having sex and god, that was an experience he never wanted to experience again. “How long have you been standing there?” he asked, glancing at his girlfriend, no,  _ fiance.  _ “Were you there the whole time?!”

“...Maybe, but that’s beside the point,” Valentina just waved a hand dismissively and he held in a comment about her being a pirate. She would probably find it funny and if Annie were here, she would either: a) hex him, b) give him her usual unimpressed stare, or c) knock him violently on his ass. Either one wouldn’t be pleasant, but at least her stare was tolerable.

“Let’s go tell the others,” he watched as the Italian girl pulled Katia up, taking her by the hand. “Come on, we’ve got a wedding to plan!”

“But-”

The taller girl ignored her, practically dragging her by the arm. He sat there on the bench, not even knowing what to say as Katia disappeared through the back door. 

Robbie glanced at him, giving him a curt nod. “Congratulations, I guess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I own nothing except a lot of homework and papers that need to be written! Comment if you'd like to!


	8. Like Icarus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Beast and Bill make plans. Mabel enjoys a quiet moment with Pacifica

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I needed a break from this story, to have some more time to think about things. I've been busy working too, and now that summer's coming to an end, I want to update this as much as I can. I know people have been wanting more Mabel, so here you go!

 

_Nothing is untrue,_

_Nothing don't matter,_

_It's all assumptions,_

_Of our emotions,_

_Of everything we are,_

_And what we belong to,_

_How we reach our,_

_Destination_

_~Like Icarus We Fly by Johan Glossner_

**(December 16, Unknown Destination)**

He didn’t remember a whole lot about his father.

From what he could remember from all those eons ago, was that he was an imposing creature of great height, standing at about nine feet. Whether this was by choice or something he was naturally given, he did not know. Pale and fair haired, he wore a face like that of an impassive stone. It hardly ever changed unless he found something to be amusing or was truly angry. His smile had never been pleasant; more of a sneer really.  

If there was anything he distinctly recalled, was how much his father  _ hated  _ him.

Not just him though, all of his brothers and sisters. From the moment they were old enough to understand, they knew one thing: Stay out of father’s way lest you want to get killed. Not that he had killed any of them, though. If he had, their mother would have killed him herself. She had been fiercely protective over all of them, keeping them under her wing and away from the towering figure of cruelty that was their father. 

Out of all of his siblings, he resembled their father the most. Even the younger demons, who were born from the unions of his siblings and so on didn’t have a single resemblance. Their genetics didn’t work the same way as the mortals; they all knew that, but throughout his childhood, he could remember his mother telling him how much he looked like him. 

He parents didn’t even sleep in the same room together. Their room had originally been their parents’ room but once they were born, their mother had kicked him out when he tried to kill Bill or something along those lines. A pity he didn’t, but he would never admit that to Bill. Last thing he wanted was to have Bill angry with him for bringing up the touchy subject. He really, really, did not need to get into a fight with his younger brother.

He had to roll his eyes at said younger brother who was currently lounging on his throne. He didn’t really care, though the way he was sitting was not proper at all. What if someone, one of their siblings or a diplomat, were to walk in? Bill may have disregarded all matters of etiquette that their mother attempted to drill into him, but he hadn’t. 

“Get your feet off my armrest,” he glared at his brother, eyeing him distastefully.

Bill merely glanced at him, giving  a dramatic sigh and stretching his long arms above his head like a cat. “Eh, they do what they want, Beasty.”

For a moment, he was tempted to throw him off his throne or even release his true form on him, but instead he only sighed. He was the calm one; he could keep things controlled. His fingers thrummed against the polished table that had been placed in the throne room, full of maps and papers that had once been in an organized fashion. Until his “beloved” decided to let their daughter into his private room. Not that he was upset with her, more irritated with the fact that Wirt was being petty. His subtle way at trying to get back at him for, well to put it mildly, everything.

Not that he cared, of course, but one would think after all these years he would have accepted his fate by now. He was not, however, going to admit that he may have possibly underestimated the Liang’s stubbornness.

“Do you have any wine?” Bill’s voice broke through his private musings, a nasty high pitched sound that made him inwardly twitch out of irritation. “And maybe you could add some more decor. It could really liven this place up, Beasty.”

“My palace is fine the way it is,” he rolled his eyes again for the upteenth time since Bill had arrived unexpectedly to his domain. His mate was off somewhere with their daughter, unfortunately leaving him to deal with his brother. Sighing, he glanced over at his brother once more. “We need to discuss what we’re going to do about the leviathans.”

“Just leave ‘em,” Bill shrugged, nonchalant attitude lacing through his tone as he shifted slightly in the chair. “We run this world now, not them. They’re just pissed that they no longer have a say in what we do. Besides, only two of them have been released.”

Where their two aunts were, he had no idea. Elluka wasn’t the worst but even he had witnessed her few moments of anger. Bill, however, despised them all equally and back in the day he wanted to destroy every single one of them. Excluding their mother, of course. Regardless however, he wasn’t impressed with the carelessness of Bill’s attitude. “They’ll awaken our uncles,” he eyed his brother evenly, hoping that his tone would catch his attention. “You know Artanis will want to release her husband next and we both know what the two of them are capable of. They’ve killed countless of our kind.”

Bill snorted. “Since when did you care about the lesser ones? The younger ones not directly connected to our mother?” for once, he was completely serious. Not an ounce of humor or mockery in his tone. It was these rare moments when Bill gave his full attention to something without his usual sense of twisted humor. “I know for certain you’ve had no problem with the lesser demons being killed off.”

“Who says they’ll go for the lesser ones? Once they’re at full power, they’ll come after us. We’re the ones who locked them away.”

The expression on Bill’s face was unreadable, and he couldn’t tell what was going on behind those golden eyes. He stepped away from the table, hand resting gingerly on the ever growing stack of parchment papers that his daughter decided to mess with. 

“Unless you want a war, which totally sounds fun by the way, I don’t think we should intervene right away,” Bill stretched like a cat once more before swinging his legs off the armrest to stand up. He sauntered over slowly, with another one of those rare expressions he wore when he was thinking hard. “Let them think they have the upper hand and then, when they least expect it, we’ll take care of them. Sweet and simple.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that a little presumptuous?”

“Please,” Bill rolled his eye. “You’re beginning to sound like my Pine Tree.”

“Good, someone needs to,” normally he’d disagree with Bill on a matter such as the one present, but at the moment, he didn’t really know what else to do. “I suppose your idea will have to do for now. We haven’t even spoken with the rest of the council.”

“You mean the faeries? You already know what they’ll say; they love bloodshed almost as much as we do!”

“We’ll speak with them after their ceremony,” he paused briefly, now wishing they did have something they could drink. He snapped his fingers as one of his servants appeared in the room; a lesser demon of no importance. “Get my brother and I something to drink,” the demon disappeared he returned his focus back to Bill, who currently was looking at the wall like he wanted to blow it up, and then redecorate it in his own image. Typical.

“So, how is your mate?”

Instead of just saying “fine” or “he’s doing well”, Bill just let out a dramatic sigh. “Brooding and passive aggressive as usual,” he scowled in faintly concealed irritation. “After all these years, you’d think he’d accept the fact that we’re together forever, but no, he keeps on refusing me.”

Did that surprise him? No, for he was in a similar situation though not entirely the same as Bill’s. He was already somewhat aware of what was going on in the Fearamid. If Dipper was refusing Bill’s advances, that wasn’t his problem. 

With Wirt, it was something completely different. Bill and Dipper didn’t have the same connection they did. Dipper just happened to be the one single being in the universe to bear Bill’s mark. Completely random; a one in a billion chance. Wirt’s birth had been predestined; he knew that one of Wuya’s descendents and that his young lover’s entire existence was meant to be with him. Wirt could hate it and try to ignore it as much as he wanted, but at the end of the day, he would come crawling back to him.

And if he really wanted to irritate and make his mate feel guilty, he could remind him that if they never bonded, Historia would have never been born.

“I’ve been thinking,” he started, Bill’s one eye watching him intently. “Have you thought of perhaps of something to alleviate this problem?”

“Believe me Beasty, it’s probably going to take a thousand years for him to forget his stupid family. I thought he would relax a bit more once Azzy was born,” Bill gave another dramatic sigh. “I should just erase his mind or something. Should have done it years ago.”

“Or,” he didn’t stop the smile from spreading across his lips. “I could share an idea of mine with you.”

By the time he was done, an even larger grin had spread across Bill’s face and he opened his mouth to say something when the door burst open. Historia, with her hair flying behind her, came running towards him with a huge grin. “Father!” she made her way over to him, not even pausing to catch her breath has her dark eyes glittered with excitement. “Uncle Bill,” she acknowledged her uncle briefly as she extended her right arm to him. Slightly below the wrist, tightly bandaged, was a symbol he knew quite well. “Māma gave me a tattoo!”

From the entrance to the throne room, his bondmate gave him a smile. He knew what it meant, and he pretended not to notice as Historia spoke to him excitedly. 

This, was Wirt’s passive aggressive way of being snide. Another small effort to prove that he would never fully accept their daughter, and by extension himself, would truly belong to the world of demons.

At least, for now.

~

**(December 16, Gravity Falls, Oregon)**

“I think we should put some of your hair up and then leave the rest down to frame your face. What do you think?”

She was sharpening her set of throwing knives, skin still glowing from the shower she just took and muscles beginning to relax from her exercises. She glanced over at her girlfriend, Pacifica, and gave a slight smile. The beautiful blonde held up a few strands of Katia’s ash brown hair, letting a few of the tresses slide gracefully off her fingers as she pursed her lips in thought. “Or we could put it all up; your hair is long enough.”

Katia stared at her reflection in the mirror, eyes squinting as she scrutinized herself. “I kind of like the first one?” she answered, though it sounded more like a question. “I don’t really pay much attention to hairstyles.”

Mabel sighed a little to herself, a part of her wanting to put her input in. A long time ago, she would have jumped to any occasion to play with someone’s hair; to help someone emphasize their beauty. 

Was it really a long time ago, though? She reached up to gently touch her own hair, fingers lightly grazing over the short waves. She would never say it outloud, but she missed her long hair. Nothing wrong with short hair, she just didn’t think it looked good on her. Not with how short it was cut, but she had to remember it was for practical reasons. Long hair, if not tied back, would get in the way of fighting. Keeping it short made her more prepared for a fight, without having to look for a hair tie. 

Of course, she would never want Pacifica to cut her hair.

She studied her girlfriend silently, as the two other women spoke about hair and makeup. That smile never left her face, and she knew how lucky she was. She never wanted to see Pacifica without her smile; that dazzling smile that made her hope, if only for a brief moment, that things would be okay. 

“Hey,”

She blinked quickly, a flush spreading across her face as Pacifica was suddenly standing in front of her, dark eyebrow raised in question. Katia, still sitting in her chair, stared at her as well, with concern. She shook her head. “Hey yourself,” she replied with a genuine smile she reserved only for Pacifica and the people she cared for.

“You have an idea? Come on, I know you’ve been thinking about something.”

It was true, she had been thinking about hair, though not for the same reasons. All this wedding talk made her head hurt and her stomach twist with unease. Not that she wasn’t happy for Greg and Katia; quite the opposite actually, but she couldn’t help but think of her twin. 

Nine years had gone by. Nine years of waiting; of training and hunting demons. Yet no sign of Dipper or Bill. Years of lying awake every night in their old room thinking of happier times; nostalgic times that left a bitter feeling in her chest. She’d already lost so much, why did the universe want her to suffer more?

First their parents, who had died right after they turned fourteen. They had been returning home from their second summer in Gravity Falls when they received the news. The news that left them in the hospital for hours, miserable and cold until they felt the familiar arms of their grunkles. 

Then Bill had stolen Dipper away, to somewhere she didn’t even know. If he was alive, which she believed he was, she didn’t know for certain. She loved Grunkle Stan and Ford, but it was obvious they were getting older. They wouldn’t be around forever and…

Well, she didn't want to be alone again.

She instantly scolded herself. She wasn’t alone, and she certainly wasn’t the only one who had lost someone. The Macavin-Palmer’s had lost their son and brother, Valentina lost her parents (though she knew the woman had mixed feelings about that), Katia had lost her parents as well, not to mention Pacifica's family had long been gone.

“You’re thinking too much again,” she felt Pacifica poke her head, and she was immediately brought back into the present. Katia had disappeared and now, it was just the two of them. Pacifica sat down next to her on the worn out couch, hand immediately entwining with hers. “She went to the bathroom,” the blonde affirmed and she gently squeezed her hand. “You’re thinking of Dipper again?”

“Yeah,” she nodded her head, unable to lie to the woman she loved. “All this wedding stuff is making me think of him more.”

“We’ll see him again soon,” Pacifica spoke with such confidence, with a spark in her eye that meant she absolutely believed this. Her answer, both a promise and a reprimand all in one. “I promise you that. We’ll all be together, all five of us and the rest of our friends. We’ll all be safe and fine.”

“Someone drank a lot of Mabel juice this morning.”

Pacifica faked a look of horror. “How can anyone drink that? Unless you slipped some into my coffee,” she shook her head with a grin, and for a moment, she caught a whiff of her peony scented perfume. Her face turned serious and she leaned in a bit further, kissing her cheek. “Don’t retreat somewhere I can’t follow. You know I’m here, right?”

“I know,” she gave her a quick peck on the lips, and she placed an arm around the woman’s shoulders. She’s warm, comfortably warm and being there with her, she felt safe. She couldn’t imagine a world without her, and she knew it was the same with the others. The grunkles had each other, though not romantically, of course.  Xiāng líng and David had each other. No could ever separate Annie and Valentina, nor Robbie and Tambry. Oh! And how could she forget Soos and Melody? 

Then there were the two lovebirds, who weren’t as openly romantic, but still deeply cared about one another. “I think the first option would work best,” she leaned her head down on the blonde’s shoulder, resting it gently. “If we curl her hair, it would look really nice.”

“There’s the spirit!”

Outside, the snow gently tapped the window and she couldn’t stop her content smile. It wasn’t perfect; nothing would be perfect until she had Dipper back, but for now, she could enjoy the calm before the storm. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We will be getting more Mabel, don't worry. I want to ease into things, so if nothing too action packed is happening yet; don't worry, it's coming. I know exactly what's going to happen >:)


	9. Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mabel and Katia return to an old sight. Tori and Tad go into The Beast's study and learn more about the history of the world the live in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We see more Mabel in this chapter! Hopefully this pleases people. We'll be having more chapters that focus around her, so be prepared for that. College is really keeping me busy, so it might be awhile before I update again. For now, enjoy!

_They send me away to find them a fortune,_

_A chest filled with Diamonds and Gold,_

_The house was awake with shadows and monsters,_

_The hallways they echoed and groaned,_

_I sat alone in bed till the morning,_

_I'm crying they're coming for me,_

_And I tried to hold these secrets inside me,_

_My mind's like a deadly disease_

_~Control by Halsey~_

**(December 17, Gravity Falls, Oregon)**

“You do remember where it is, right?”

“Mabel, I’m pretty sure I remember where my old house is.”

“Well, if you’re certain…”

She quickly closed her eyes as the wind blew sharply across her face, stinging her already pink nose. A few strands of pale brown hair slipped out from her hat and she simply sighed. Not out of irritation or anything, just a small sigh of resignation. She couldn’t avoid this trip, she chose to do it, so she had no one to blame but herself.

“Hopefully this will all clear up,” Mabel commented, eyeing the snow with a fair amount of exasperation. “It was so nice the other day. Now it’s all...ick.”

Mabel certainly surprised her some days. She could see a lot of herself in the woman as far as personality went. Both of them didn’t chose to say much, and despite loving their dear ones, they had a cynical outlook on life. Except, and she would never say this outloud, Mabel had lost more than she ever had. Both were orphans, but at least Mabel had a family she could return to. A twin brother at her side and a home. After the events of the high school dance many years ago, Mabel had lost her twin.

It was obvious on the older woman’s face, it wore down on her. The knowledge that she could never be completely whole until she had her twin back. She had her girlfriend, Pacifica, but that still didn’t ease the ache. She could understand, even though their circumstances were different.

_“Run, Katia! Run as fast as you can! Move it!”_

No, no, now was not the time to be thinking of that. She brought a hand to her temple, easing away the memory that had invaded into her consciousness. It brought a sudden burst of pain like a clamp squeezing her skull made her give small gasp of discomfort.

She jumped slightly at the sudden grip on her shoulder, Mabel’s dark brown eyes narrowed in concern. “Are you alright?” she asked, stopping the both of them in their walk. She removed her hand from her shoulder, stepping a bit closer. “We can go back if you’re not feeling well.”

“No,” she shook her head. “No, I’m fine. Let’s keep going.”

“You don’t look fine. You look like you dumped baking powder on your face.”

A long time ago, if she remembered correctly, Mabel would have said that with a teasing grin on her face. Not unkindly, but reassuring in a way that she was trying to make someone feel better. Now, there was always a faint glimmer of humor, buried far away in her guarded self. Somewhere in there, the Mabel of the old days was still around.

“I’ll be fine,” she shook her head, securing her hat more firmly around her head. “I zoned out for a moment, that’s all.”

If Mabel didn’t believe her, she didn’t say anything and merely stepped forward to continue their way to the house. She swallowed tightly, taking a deep breath and followed the older woman. She caught up with her, taking the lead as the rest of the journey was as silent as the town. Well, what was left of it anyway.

She closed her eyes momentarily, her heart racing against her chest. She pretended she was a little girl once more, hair in a french braid and a flower printed lunch box in one hand. Running down the sidewalk from her bus stop, anxious to return home. Throwing the front door open, running into the living room to fall in her mother’s lap. The woman would smile, run her slim pale fingers through her hair and ask how her day was. The front door would open and her father’s voice would sound out, and she’d throw herself into those familiar arms.

_“Mommy, I’m scared…”_

_“Where am I supposed to go?”_

_“It’s so cold out here…”_

“Is this it?”

She internally felt relief and pushed the thoughts back into her subconscious. She followed Mabel’s gaze and found herself staring at a familiar sight. Still standing; still the same, yet not. Even though the snow had killed every living plant in sight, she knew that weeds had grown uncontrollably around the place, since no one was there to take care of it.

The inside, however, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to see.

She felt Mabel give her a nudge. “Ready when you are,” when she didn’t move, she heard Mabel give a small sigh. “We don’t have to go in, you know, if you’re not comfortable-”

“No,” she cut her off, shaking her head. “We go in.”

The house looked terrible. Holes were in the foundation and cracks in the windows. The white paint had peeled off and if she looked carefully, there was a big hole in the roof. A few crows had perched on top, staring down at her with their beady eyes. One even had the nerve to caw at her.

She simply stared at it, fighting every temptation in her body to throw a rock at it. Since Beatrice had turned into a bluebird, would she turn into a crow if she threw something at it? She wasn’t going to take that chance.

With some effort, she and Mabel managed to get the door open. It took several shoves and hand pushing before Mabel finally managed to kick it, right foot kicking it hard enough to slam it open. Inside there was a noticeable draft, and the house smelled of age and neglect, enough to make her cover her nose.

“It’s probably not safe up in the attic,” Mabel commented, stepping away from a rat that had scurried past her feet. “Is that even where she kept it?”

“No,” she glanced towards the stairs, which surprisingly had kept in tact. “She kept it in a box in her closet. Come on, I’ll show you the way.”

Mabel paused, looking past her shoulder where the living room used to be. She stepped past her, removing her mittens from her hand to grab something off the table in between the two couches. The room had once been lovely, a welcoming shade of dusty pink with cream couches. She felt a lump in her throat just looking at it, blinking away the tears. Holes made by animals had destroyed the once pristine paint, and the couches, she had to wrinkle her nose at them. A disgusting shade of brown that indicated water damage.

A picture frame was what Mabel was holding, using her sleeve to wipe away the dust that had gathered. Her eyes scanning over the image softly. “This was your mom and dad, right? I don’t think I’ve ever seen an image of her. She’s pretty.”

She softly treaded across the dirty floor, standing next to her. She took the photo from her, feeling more tears burn her eyes. The photo of the house the day they first moved in. Two years before she had been born. Her mother looked happy, bright diamond like blue eyes shining with a life she had not seen in a long time. She looked so lively and healthy, so different from the mother she’d known as a child. She’d spent much of her childhood in a wheelchair, tired and weak.

“Mommy’s not feeling well these days,” her father told her once, when she asked him about it. “She’s a bit under the weather, but I’m sure she’ll feel better soon.”

Of course she hadn’t. If anything, she had gotten even worse. More thin and frail looking, like a delicate china doll. Her skin cold and her once beautiful pale brown hair dulled, as though all the life had been sucked out of her. She never understood what exactly was wrong with her; the exact cause was never known, but to this day, there wasn’t a year that went by when she didn’t question it.

“She was,” she replied to Mabel, pulling herself out of the past. She quickly took the photo, tucking it away in the backpack strapped to her back. “Well, I say we get moving. I feel this whole house could collapse.”

“I bet it won’t.”

“I’m still not taking that risk.”

Though the old wooden stairs creaked, and Mabel almost fell into one of the rotting boards, they managed to make it all the way up to the top. She found the door to their room quite easily, seeing as it was the first door on the right. She pushed the door open, surprised at how easily it opened and winced when it fell off its hinges.

She closed her eyes tightly, covering her mouth and nose to ignore the musty smell. Back when her parents were alive, their room always smelled nice. Like the lavender and vanilla soap her mother used on her skin, comforting and homey. The room wasn’t the same either, not much to her surprise. Stains on the bed and wall, the smell of rotting wood so strong it brought tears to her eyes.

“Holy Moses, it smells bad,” Mabel coughed, covering her nose. “Seriously, get the dress so we can get out of here.”

She wasn’t wrong about the smell, but for some reason, she couldn't bring herself to focus on it. All she could think of was the room she had known in her younger days. The rose printed wallpaper and their soft cream colored bed. The soft white curtains and her favorite spot, her mother’s vanity. An old victorian era vanity full of her mother’s perfumes and other cosmetics. When they would go out sometimes in the evening, she would sit on their bed and watch her mother apply her makeup with expertise hands.

She touched the old wood, quietly dismayed at the fact it was damaged. Everything in this house was damaged. Much like her family, in a way.

Except, she was alive. She managed to stay alive; to survive and she found people to care for her. She was lucky, that was something she knew for certain.

In front of her parents’ bed there was the closet. She pushed the doors open, not even jumping when a mouse ran out with a squeak. For a moment, she felt sick. If mice and other critters had been living in the house, the chances of her mother’s dress being in tact was slim. It may not even be wearable at this point.

Several of the small boxes tucked away in the closet had been chewed through. She pulled them out, Mabel helping and setting them down on the floor. Most of them held junk, certain clothes for different times of the year and for some reason, a few Christmas ornaments. They kept pulling the boxes out, until there was only one left. The only box tucked away on the top shelf, untouched by time.

“It looks perfectly fine,” Mabel commented as she watched her set the bed, staring at it with wide eyes. “Ten bucks says it’s magic.”

“Maybe,” she replied, but she wasn’t stupid enough to brush the comment away. “I mean, she was fairy and all. Maybe she enchanted the box.”

“But she forsook her immortality. Wouldn’t that mean she didn’t have any powers left?”

She shrugged. “How would I know? I didn’t even find out about her powers till the day she…” she stopped abruptly, shaking her head. “Anyway, the box is here, so let’s see if this is what we’re looking for.”

She removed the lid slowly, Mabel leaning forward to get a glimpse of the contents inside. Her eyes widened in shock, pulling the white dress out of its casing. It was just as she had remembered it from the photos; it hadn’t aged with time. Mermaid style with neck high long sleeves made completely from lace. The dress itself was soft, like gossamer threads had formed it, giving it a silk like quality. In a sense, it felt completely out of this world, as though it belonged to another.

“It’s beautiful,” Mabel gave a rare genuine smile, reaching into the box to pull out a long, hip length partial lace veil. Antique, she guessed, but had no way of proving that. Mabel looked back at her, brown eyes shining. “She was probably saving it for you.”

The idea was nice, she wouldn't deny that. Yet, at the same time, brought the bittersweet reminder that they wouldn’t bet there. Her mother wouldn’t be sitting in the front row, eyes watery and giving her that dazzling smile. Her father wouldn’t walk her down the aisle; wouldn’t give her away to Greg. David said he would do it and though it was selfish thought, she wished her own father was here to do it.

“When we get back to the house, we’ll have you try it on. See if we need to make adjustments,” in just like that, it was though Mabel was a normal young woman. Not a battle hardened warrior desperately chasing after her brother, who for all they knew, no longer existed in this realm.

“Okay,” she agreed. She felt almost giddy with excitement, butterflies fluttering away in her stomach. “Then let’s go home.”

She let Mabel exit out first, stopping to look back into the box. Tucked away at the very bottom, was a book. A brown leather cased box with intricate designs and enclosed by a singe button. She picked it up, opening it to reveal the first page on the inside. Her eyes widened as she saw her mother's name written down in neat handwriting. A journal of some sorts. Definitely something she wanted to take with her as she placed it back in the box, gently putting the dress back with it and picking it up. She didn't mention any of it to Mabel, at least, not for now. She wasn't entirely sure what she was going to say. 

And for the first time in years, she exited the house she had ran away from. Only this time, she had a clear destination in mind.

_“Mom, Dad, you told me to run, and I didn’t know where to go. But this time, I do have somewhere to go. I have who looks after me. I have a home; a family. And this time, I have someone to look after and protect as well. Mom, Dad, Greg means everything to me. I think...you would have liked him too.”_

~

**(December 17, Unknown Destination)**

“You know I’m not supposed to be in here, Tad. Daddy will get mad at me if he catches me and then I won’t get to go to the party!”

“Calm down, Historia, you won’t get in trouble. If I hear someone coming, we’ll leave. Alright?”

She glanced up at him briefly, dark eyes knitting in worry and she peered past his tall body to see if anyone was coming around the hall. She could see and hear no one, but that still didn’t ease the worry fluttering in her chest. She loved her father, but she wouldn’t deny that at times, he terrified her. His shadow form was scary, but when he was truly angry, his true form would show. Like a hollowed out tree with faces carved into him. Faces forever carved in expressions of woe and terror. She preferred his “human” form, the one her Māma had.

“I wonder if Māma can change his form,” she wondered out loud as Tad pushed the doors open, the two of them stepping inside quietly. She looked up at her friend inquisitively. “Do you know?”

“No, your mother is human,” Tad shook his head, a brief smile contorting his normally cool expression. “Unless he’s learned magic in the time he’s been here, then I doubt he can shape shift. It’s a very unnatural thing for humans to do.”

She tilted her head in confusion. “What? I don’t understand.”

“You will one day. Perhaps you are able to, young Princess of The Unknown,” she scowled, flushing and shaking her head while he let out a short chuckle. “I’m sorry, I forget you hate titles.”

She huffed. “They’re too much of a mouthful and they don’t feel right. Like a shoe that doesn’t fit,” she peered around the study. “It doesn’t feel right being in here either. If Daddy gets mad at me, then Māma will be upset.”

Subconsciously, her small fingers found her way to base of her right wrist. Tightly bandaged and concealed was the tattoo her mother had given her. Why it needed to be wrapped didn’t really make sense; it wasn’t like it was hurting. The entire process hadn’t even taken that long and she barely felt the needle entering her skin. That surprised her mother, who had said that it hurt a little when he got it.

On a different note, her Daddy hadn’t been too happy about her getting said tattoo. He didn’t outright say it, but she noticed the look he gave her mother.

“Why do they fight all the time?” she asked Tad, sitting up on her father’s chair and swinging her legs forward as though she were on the swing outside in the gardens. “It is fighting, isn’t it?”

“More like passive aggressive fighting, but yes, I suppose you could consider it that,” he agreed, after pondering over it for a few seconds. She wasn’t entirely sure what passive aggressive meant, but it would be something she could look up later. Or ask her parents. He shook his head and sighed. “It’s complicated between them. The same goes for your Uncle Bill and Dipper.”

“It is?”

“Yes.”

She wanted to ask what he meant, but he was staring at something quite intensely on the table. She peered over the edge, not entirely sure of what he was looking at. She still didn’t feel comfortable doing this and she felt strangely cold. It wasn’t a warm room; not like hers full of life and brightness. It was dark in comparison, made entirely of a strange type of wood that reminded her of something, but couldn’t place what it was.

She didn’t know about the artifacts he had hanging on the walls, or carefully put away on the shelves. A lot of his stuff looked old; from a time she hadn’t been around to see. Or, as Azzy put it, a time where she hadn’t even been considered a concept just yet.

On a shelf, were things that she was completely puzzled by. Seven objects placed in a row on the shelf, except they looked like completely ordinary things. A sword, a cup, two double sided mirrors, a pair of golden scissors, a doll, a spoon, and a simple golden key.

“The Vessels of Sin,” Tad commented, catching her gaze. “If you gather all of them together, you can achieve anything you want. I wouldn’t touch them if I were you; your father probably wouldn’t like that.”

She immediately froze. She had no intention of touching the ordinary objects, but she wasn’t foolish. She could feel power radiating from them, lulling her into touching them. She tore her attention away, uncomfortable from looking at them for so long. “Why does Daddy have them?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Tad laughed again, smiling. “He gathered them to make a wish. Mind you, you can only use them once. When a person gathers them, they are give the chance to get any wish they want. When they are together again, they become the original sin”

“Oh,” she frowned. “That doesn’t seem so bad. Why do you know so much about these things? Are you a wizard or something?”

“Of course not,” he ruffled her hair affectionately, ignoring her half hearted scowl. He looked thoughtful for a moment. “I’ve met a wizard before though. Can’t say I liked him; he had a real obsession with math.”

She giggled. “Math is boring,” she smiled as he agreed with her, finally relieved that someone shared the same opinion. “I’m good at it, though, but Azzy’s better. He seems to be better at me in everything.”

“Well, I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Well,” she started, thinking hard. “We’ve gotten in fights before and I always win at them. Daddy told Uncle Bill that I’m stronger. Uncle Bill didn’t like that.”

She noticed he frowned at that. “I’m sure your Uncle Bill didn’t. He doesn’t like to be one-upped, you know,” and all of a sudden, the frown disappeared as though it had never been there in the first place. “Now, come take a look at what I found.”

“Okay?”

She hopped off of the chair, heading around the strange wooden table to what he was looking at it. In his pale hands was a golden device. A clock, or perhaps a compass that could fit perfectly in the palm of her hand. Not too small, but not too big either, she noticed as he slid it carefully into her hands. “What is it?” she asked, not understanding at all. “And why does Daddy think it’s so important to keep it in his study?”

“It’s a Truth Meter, but was called an ‘Alethiometer’, the language that was later used by the Greek humani,” Tad explained calmly, watching as she traced the device delicately. “I’m sure your father hasn’t told you, but he, Bill, and a few others were born to leviathans.”

“Leviathans?” she asked, but nodded anyway. She’d heard the word thrown around before, but with no actual meaning placed to it. “Are they like the gods Māma likes to read to me about? He tells me stories that his mother used to tell him. Something called Chinese mythology.”

“Something like that,” he sounded quiet, almost inaudible. “The first two Leviathans were the accidental creations of the Time Giants.”

“Time Giants?”

“Scientists of unparalleled knowledge who held dominion over all things time and space. They created the multi verse, you see, but their power was limited. They created the outline of the multi verse, you see,” he spoke as though he had been there himself, as though he had actually known them. Which, was ridiculous of course, so she kept on listening to his speech. “They were powerful, yes, but when the Leviathans grew, their power was so great that the Time Giants could not control them anymore. The Time Giants were destroyed, save for one who was frozen in a glacier in the Antarctic.”

“What happened then?”

“The world you live in, and all the other worlds in the multiverse, were given life. The Leviathans created the world's; allowed life to take form in the various realms and ruled over all.”

She looked back down at the device. “And what does this have to do with this?”

“Only six of the Alethiometer’s were ever created. This, is the last one known in existence. Your father and Bill must have scoured through many worlds to find it. It is a rare piece indeed,” he shook his head and sighed softly. “It is useless to them; they and their kin are not able to read it. Very few outside of the Time Giants and Leviathans were able to. Michel de Nostredame, a humani, was able to.”

“Who?”

“A figure in your humani history. Saw the most likely future for the world’s end” he brushed it off with nonchalance, vaguely reminding her of her father in an eerie similarity. “Your mother wouldn’t be able to read it either, I imagine. However, there is always a possibility. How about you try it?”

“Me?” she asked in surprise. “I don’t think I’d...If Daddy and Māma can’t do it, I probably can’t either.”

“But how do you know?” he insisted, tapping the device gently with his index finger. “You’ll never know unless you try.”

She pursed her lips thoughtfully. Was there any real harm in trying? What was the worst that could happen? “Okay,” she surrendered and carefully opened the device. Again, the inside was similar to that of a clock or compass. There were hands pointing to places on the dial. However, instead of hours or points to indicate the time, there were several little pictures of varying things ranging from an apple to an hourglass. Finely painted to, not a smudge or inaccurate design. “How does it work?” she asked.

“There are three needles, see?” he pointed to them, one hand on her shoulder and the other pointing to the smooth screen. “You direct the three needles to certain symbols. Then, the fourth needle will swing to give you an answer.”

“How will I know what it means?”

“Try and see.”

She stared at it, narrowing her eyes. She turned the tiny dial at the bottom of the screen, watching as they landed on the symbols. “The party that will happen,” she directed the needles. “The Cornucopia represents hospitality, since the party is welcoming to both demon and fairy alike. The Globe means that rulers are hosting the event, Titania, Uncle Bill and my Daddy. The Dolphin represents playfulness, that everyone attending the party will be having a good time.”

It was strange, watching as the symbols moved each time she turned the dial. She wasn’t guessing what the symbols meant, she KNEW what they meant. She couldn’t explain how she knew, maybe she was smarter than Azzy gave her credit for, but just looking at each one, she could go on and explain what they could mean and in what context.

As the fourth needle moved, the world around her disappeared. There was golden dust, and streams of flowing silver moving around in her vision. Her vision wasn’t blurry, it was perfectly clear. She could see herself and her parents, Azzy and his. Everyone around them having a perfectly good time while their fathers and Titania sat on their thrones, radiating superiority and their status as rulers. The fourth needle finally landed on a symbol, the symbol of the Hourglass.

“Change,” she half whispered, eyes widening. “The Hourglass can represent change. Something is going to change at the night of the party.”

Tad looked completely astonished, but at the same time, not. “You can read it,” he smiled at her as she closed it, hastily putting it back on the table. “That’s very impressive, Tori. You’re one of the few that can.”

He said it like it was a good thing, but she wasn’t so sure. “Let’s go,” she took him by the hand, wanting nothing more than to leave. “Before Daddy gets here and becomes angry.”

As she closed the door behind them, she caught a glimpse of it once more. She wanted to leave the room and never see it again.

At the same time, she wanted to hold the golden device again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alethiometers are from a series called His Dark Materials. I read them in Middle School and loved it, so I encompassed this into the story. Get it? XD


	10. In my arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dipper visits Wirt and gives him some unsettling news

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the hiatus! I will admit, I wasn't feeling too inspired to work on this due to multiple reasons including: My last semester and my job kept me busy. Seriously, I was working pretty much 32 hours in one week including homework, so I was pretty exhausted. Then I worked over winter break and I've been working on this chapter ever since arriving in Merida. Can't believe I'll be leaving it before too long :(
> 
> On another note, my sister is graduating high school this May! I'm so excited and so proud of her, she's really been working hard. 
> 
> So enjoy this chapter. Next chapter will be the wedding and I'm close to finishing it. Just got to get through some of the last parts and then go to editing. Hopefully it will be out sometime soon.

Story books are filled with fairytales,

Of kings and queens,

And the bluest skies,

And my heart is torn,

Just in knowing,

You'll someday see,

The truth from lies

~In my arms by Plumb~

**(Somewhere in the world, December 19, 2025)**

It was odd, sometimes, seeing his daughter so peaceful.

It was one of the rare moments where there was true peace in the cold palace. The Beast had gone out, something their daughter had been extremely upset about. She hated it when one or both of them left and when she was younger, she would cry for until she wore herself out. The imps that worked in the palace hated it, he knew that for certain. Yet when one of them had the nerve to complain about it, well…

They never saw that imp again.

Now, she lay sleeping in the hammock in the palace garden. Hooked between two columns on the patio, the white hammock with lacy fringe trailing down rocked slightly in the breeze, she did not even stir. He had to smile softly at that; she was a heavy sleeper, much like Greg. She could probably sleep through an earthquake or any other natural disaster. Not that wasn’t worrying, though.

The smile fell from his face, a dull ache that brought forth the bitter reminder. One, for many years, he had kept denying until the inevitable cruelness of reality slapped him across the face. He was never going back. Were they even alive anymore? If The Beast knew, he didn’t tell him anything and a part of him didn’t even want to know. It hurt too much to think about them sometimes. Yin Wei was most likely a child now, and Greg a young adult. He could spend hours thinking about what they looked like; what they were doing in the cruel world they had been forced to adapt to.

His parents, were they alright? His step-father too, he couldn’t spend a day not thinking about them. Much older now, he imagined, and he wondered if he looked older to them too. He didn’t look like the teenager that had been kidnapped, forced into marriage, and left to his wits to survive the chaos the demons had brought upon the world.

It wasn’t all bad, though, and he looked back towards his daughter still sleeping away in the hammock. What would they think of her? Would they accept her? Love her as they loved him? He couldn’t answer those questions, even when she asked about his family. What was he supposed to tell her when even he didn’t know?

She moved, adjusting her head and allowing her head to rest on her shoulder. It was like she was a baby all over again and he always loved watching her sleep. So different from when she was awake and chatting up a storm to whoever was around to listen.

She was painted in the most florescent colors.  The pallet whatever god used to create her was enough to make Picasso shed a tear. If she were awake right now, she would smile brightly at him. A bright smile that would send rays of colors from every end of the spectrum go running in all directions. She looked so much like him, so much that it left him with a feeling that he might cry. When she was an infant, she would smile almost every second she could, giggling and pulling at his hair or the petals in her father’s garden. Then there were rare times where she would be solemn, staring at him with such an ancient expression beyond her years. As though she somehow knew everything without him telling her.

His gaze left her sleeping form and out towards the lush gardens. The only part of the palace he truly liked; the only haven he had when he needed to be alone. The flowers grew all year round, regardless of the weather around them and it seemed to go on for miles. He hadn’t even explored all of it yet, and it was one of the few places The Beast hadn’t ruined yet.

He had promised to spend the day with her, which she seemed pretty happy about. The other day, she seemed distracted. Guilty, was actually a better word and he knew he needed to find out what she did before her father did.

He joined in her tea party, hiding his amusement in the small china tea cup as she offered the beverage and sweets to him, her stuffed dolls, and Tad. He didn’t know when this Tad thing started but figured she would eventually grow out of it. After that, he read poetry to her and recently sang her to sleep after she insisted he continue his story about the garden wall.

She had been excited all week, so much so that she had passed out right in the hammock after telling him enthusiastically about what she was going to wear to the Changing of the Scepters. The Beast, recently, had brought her back a new dress with a butterfly design sewn in. She seemed very happy with it, but one look from his _husband_ and he knew this was a subtle jab at him for giving her his family tattoo.

Well, two could play at that game. He had his own plan in mind.

A small brush of wind sounded from behind him and he sighed. Not out of irritation; he could never be too irritated with his only friend in the world now. He stood up, smoothing down the soft silk material of his shirt and smiled tiredly at the figure that had apparated in the yard. “Hello Dipper. I didn’t know you were dropping in for a visit, I would have had some tea prepared.”

Dipper scowled slightly. “Who cares about tea,” he grumbled as he took the seat towards the end of the hammock. If Wirt had been in a joking mood, he would have called that sacrilege. Dipper’s face, however, told him that saying that would not be a wise decision.

“What’s wrong?” something was wrong; he could feel it instinctively. He closed his eyes, concentrating for a brief moment as more tea materialized in his cup. It had taken a long time for that skill to show up, but now he had almost mastered it. He blew on the steaming liquid carefully. “Dipper, did Bill…”

“No!” Dipper flushed and swallowed hard. A long time ago, he might have felt bad about bringing that up. Now, though, everything was just so, well, complicated. Dipper took a deep breath, rubbing the soul mark on his head in annoyance. “He hasn’t done anything to me recently except for denying my wishes.”

“And that surprises you how?”

The brunette rolled his eyes. “He’s training Aster in magic,” Dipper’s voice had dropped to a whisper, and he thought he saw tears burning in those chocolate brown eyes. He felt a part of his stomach freeze, looking to sleeping Historia in the hammock. If Bill had started already, then it wouldn’t be long till The Beast took an interest in Historia’s abilities.

“How long?” he asked, hands tightening at his side. “Tell me, is Aster okay?”

“He’s fine, thank the stars,” Dipper sighed in relief, the only thing that brought a quick smile to his lips before it dropped. “Bill says that he’ll pick it up more quickly soon, but I can tell he’s disappointed. The son of the “great Bill Cipher”, doesn’t seem to show any abilities.”

He had been wondering about that. Logically, it made sense that the offspring of one of the most powerful demons in the multiverse would have strong offspring, but Aster was peculiar. Not that he didn’t sense magic in him, but it wasn’t the same as Bill’s. It didn’t feel the same and he knew Dipper felt it too. Then again, he had been wrong about things before. Aster could prove to be just as powerful as his father, and that was Dipper’s greatest fear.

“Maybe Bill will give up?”

Dipper snorted. “When has Bill ever given up on something?” he ground his teeth together as though the mere mention of his husband gave him a headache. Which, for all he knew, it did. “He won’t give up until he’s squashed every ounce of humanity from Aster. That’s what they want, you know? They know that’s what will break us even further.”

Dipper was shaking, though not from anger. His face had gone drastically pale and he stared down at his hands as though he could no longer feel them. His breathing was shaky, and he then clutched his chest as if it hurt. Wirt immediately jumped up from his seat, setting the tea cup down on the table nearest him and placed an arm around his friend. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, Dipper,” he murmured into the brunette’s ear. “Just take deep breaths, okay? In, and out. In, and out.”

Despite the shaking, Dipper nodded and breathed in shakily. His body had gone cold, and if he continued having a panic attack, cold sweat would soon follow, and he knew that Dipper was easily embarrassed by how much he sweated. In and out, that’s was pretty much the only way he could think of to help his friend. In the beginning of their time here, the panic attacks were much more frequent, even worse than the one right now. Then Aster was born and well, he hated putting it like this, but he found a distraction.

Dipper loved his son, just like how he loved his daughter. Yet, he wasn’t going to deny that taking care of Historia served as a great distraction from the pain and loneliness in his heart. For a while, until nightfall, it kept the sadness at bay.

Dipper leaned down, resting his head between his knees and took another deep breath. The shaking had lessened, somewhat, and color was beginning to come back to his complexion. He smiled softly, closing his eyes once more to concentrate. He conjured up a cookie; Dipper’s favorite cookie and held it in his direction. “Here, eat this. I’ve heard that it’s supposed to help.”

Lifting his head from his knees, the man smiled weakly. “Thanks,” he said hoarsely as he took the cookie from him. He chewed on it slowly, still focusing on his breathing. It was getting better now, and Wirt sat back down in his chair, watching attentively as his friend straightened back up. A blush covered Dipper’s face as he bit into the cookie one last time. “Sorry about that,” he mumbled after swallowing. “I didn’t mean-“

“It’s fine; don’t worry about it,” he shook his head, looking back down at his daughter. Even after all that, she still didn’t wake. She had only moved onto her right side, facing them. He returned his gaze to his friend. “Are you okay?”

Dipper just stared at his hands, which had stopped shaking only a few seconds ago. His eyes had gone distant, a thousand miles away. Yet when he met his gaze once more, he couldn’t stop the sick feeling of dread from churning in his stomach.

“Bill wants another baby.”

If he had been holding his tea cup, he might have dropped it out of shock. His eyes widened in disbelief, blinking furiously in confusion. “He wants another?”

“Yeah,” Dipper nodded, paling once more. He looked away, pursing his lips tightly and shuddered. “I don’t think I can do it again. The first time…I didn’t think I was going to survive.”

He nodded in agreement, thinking back almost six years ago when Historia had been born. He had known in theory that child birth was painful, but men weren’t supposed to be able to carry children. To this day, he still didn’t understand how he and Dipper had been able to conceive. The only theory he had that could possibly make sense was that Bill had something to do with it.

“I didn’t think I’d survive giving birth to Historia, either,” he nodded in agreement. “What did you tell Bill?”

“That he was crazy if he thinks I’m going through that again,” Dipper frowned in irritation. “Then he laughed and said, “we’ll see”, as if I’m actually going to change my mind.”

“You don’t think he’ll…”

“Gods, I hope not,” Dipper muttered, and both their faces paled at the implication. Dipper shuddered again, wrapping his arms around himself. “I’m serious, I can’t go through that again. And I know you can’t either.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “And what if it happens anyway?”

“What?”

“I wasn’t planning to conceive Historia as well, you know,” he glanced back at his daughter and frowned at the memory. For the first month and a half, he thought he’d been sick until the sudden realization struck. “I had finally begun to have some advantage over him, but she was the price I had to pay.”

“You…you never told me that,” Dipper stared at him, eyes wide with surprise. His mouth had dropped a bit in surprise, eyes then fliting between him and Historia. “And you don’t blame her…?”

“Of course not,” he shook his head at the mere thought. “She didn’t ask to be born, just like everyone else. I just…didn’t really care for the circumstances of her conception.”

That brought a half smile to Dipper’s face.  “I guess I can understand. You want to know something that’s kind of weird?”

“Shoot.”

“Bill suggested to The Beast that his child was going to look like one of those Edelwood trees. Instead, she came out looking a lot like you,” Dipper smiled softly. “Could you imagine giving birth to a tree?”

“Not even sure if that’s possible, but sure, let’s go with that,” he couldn’t help but chuckle at the incredulous thought of Historia being born as a tree. “Actually, Beast thought Aster was going to be a triangle.”

“Yeah, I was thinking that might happen, but then he came out looking so…human,” Dipper shrugged. “Even Bill thought it was weird.”

“Bill found something weird? Never thought I’d see the day.”

Dipper smirked. “You’d be surprised,” he glanced around the vast garden, eyes landing on the bluebells growing near the brook that flowed nearby. “Mind if I stay here for a while? I don’t want to go back just yet.”

He didn’t blame him, not one bit. The gardens were his escape from the cold, prison like walls of the palace. He’d either go in it by himself, or bring Historia with him, but it brought him peace. Since the Fearamid was in the sky and apparation for them took a lot of energy, he didn’t really have any place of solace to go to.

They both almost jumped at the sudden stirring in the hammock as Historia woke up. She sat up slowly, rubbing her dark eyes and hair sticking in random places from napping for so long. “Māma, what’s Uncle Dipper doing here? Is Azzy with him?”

Dipper smiled at her. “Hey Tori, I was just stopping by for a visit. Azzy’s not here with me right now, but I’m sure he would love to know you said hi.”

She smiled, hopping off the hammock and stretched her arms above her head, yawning. She then lowered her arms, giving her uncle a bright smile. “Daddy let me plant sunflowers. Do you want to see them?”

“Sure,” Dipper chuckled as she took him by the hand, making him stand and tugged him along the path to where she had planted the flowers she was so proud of.

He watched them go, a soft smile on his face before it fell. If Bill was wanting another baby, and he hoped for Dipper’s sake it wouldn’t happen, was The Beast wanting another one as well? He clutched his hands at his side. The memory of her birth was still fresh in his mind. A pain so strong that when it was over, it was like having an out of body experience until she was placed in his arms. Reality hit so suddenly, that he had done something that defied the laws of nature all together. Would he be able to do it again? Would his body be able to handle it?

“You look tense, Young Love,” an arm wrapped around his waist, and a voice he knew so well purred in his ear. “Why so deep in thought?”

He didn’t say anything. Nor did he bother pushing the hand off his waist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, we got to see more Wirt! We'll be seeing him again real soon though, I promise! We have multiple points of view in this story and I'm trying to keep it so everyone has a fair amount. Well, we'll see how that goes. 
> 
> Please, please comment! Comments keep me going and I update faster when motivated! Feed the author, feed her!

**Author's Note:**

> If you didn't notice already, Greg is really different. It might seem OOC but I think that as a young adult; with the things he's gone through, it's going to affect him. I still love him, my poor sweet baby. *Hugs him close*
> 
> But yes, Katia was a character I mentioned briefly in the last story. She was a classmate of Greg's and was at his birthday party. Well, comment, kudo and bookmark! If you would like to, that is.


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